


Coincidentia Oppositorum

by Toomanyfandoms99



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Bonding, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Confrontations, Costume Party, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Famous, Foster Care, Found Family, Halloween, Holidays, Homecoming, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Motorcycles, Mutual Pining, Paintball, Sabotage, Star Wars Alternate Universe - No Force, Star Wars Alternate Universe - No Jedi, Thanksgiving, The Millenium Falcon is a Car (Star Wars), Underage Drinking, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: When the door jingles closed, a voice murmurs, “hey.”Luke jolts and turns around.  His eyes widen, a hand on a racing heart.  He drinks in Ezra sipping soda on his motorcycle.  Alone.“What,” Luke shakes his head, dropping his hand, “what are you doing?”Ezra sips his soda loudly through a bendy straw.  “I wanted to see if you were okay.  You seemed upset.”-Coincidentia Oppositorum (Latin) = “Unity of Opposites.”“A situation in which the existence or identity of a thing or situation depends on the co-existence of at least two conditions which are opposite to each other, yet dependent on each other and presupposing each other, within a field of tension.”A Skybridger Modern High School AU where the son of a famous heiress, Luke Skywalker, and a mysterious bad boy, Ezra Bridger, fall in love amidst a dispute.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Barriss Offee/Ahsoka Tano, Ezra Bridger/Luke Skywalker, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, Ketsu Onyo/Sabine Wren, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 162
Kudos: 115





	1. Cruisin’ down a heart-shaped highway

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, tell me, can you take my breath away?  
> Cruisin’ down a heart-shaped highway.
> 
> -Katy Perry, “Harleys in Hawaii”

Luke presses the gas pedal hard on the Harley Davidson. It groans and roars, vibrating the handlebars that he clutches underneath leather gloves. He tears down the empty two-way street as his teeth clench, the helmet shield shading his eyes from the unrelenting sunlight. Sand, weeds, and cacti pass through his peripherals in a blur as he focuses on what’s ahead, where he chooses to go as his mind races and burns with hatred.

He didn’t ask much from his parents. They love their opulent mansion, their fabulous famous lifestyle, but Luke is sick of it. 

He didn’t even get angry at anything important! Luke would usually let everything slide, roll back his shoulders and take it, but they wanted to repossess his motorcycle. And for what?

“You spend far too much time on the road, honey,” Mom says in her airy aristocrat tone. She doesn’t even look at him as she leans against the kitchen counter in a navy lace two-piece and files her nails. “You shouldn’t look to the horizon. You should be here. With your family. At my gala.”

Luke scoffs beneath his helmet just recalling it. “You should be here” is a hefty price for the son of Padmé Amidala-Skywalker, the heiress to the Fortune 500 auto company that rules the world. It was fun playing dress-up at first, but now that he’s in high school, he’s tired of the war games.

He brakes slowly as the motorcycle bends around the rock formations that lead to the gas station. It is one of the few secluded areas in the whole town. He has scoped out every possible hideout, but Kenobi’s Gas and Snack Shack is his favorite place by far. It is owned by Obi-Wan and his wife, Satine. Their adopted daughter, Ahsoka, is his closest friend.

Luke absently remembers he put on the wrong boots as he maneuvers the winding road. These were his Chanel boots, a gift from Mom when he turned seventeen. Picking out fashionable ensembles is the only thing that Luke still enjoys about a luxurious home and a wealthy family. It is his form of expression besides obsessing over mechanics and motorcycles. As well as the celebrities that ride motorcycles. Men with glass-sharp jawlines and five o’clock shadows and eyes that pierce through the soul. Luke’s mouth waters simply recalling his lengthening list of heartthrobs.

He catches sight of the gas station sign, stark red with shining silver lettering. He makes an off-road turn to the left and beelines his motorcycle to the rightmost side of the convenience store. 

Luke eases off the gas pedal as the motorcycle roars. The engine whirr fades into the air as he rips out the ignition. Even though his nerves and emotions are fragile, he feels better by simply driving.

Luke kicks down the metal stand. The sleek motorcycle groans and tips to adjust its weight. The Harley Davidson lurches equalized as Luke slides off the opposite side. Once his Chanel boots are scuffed by the dirt, he sighs at the shoes no longer being mint condition.

But what are shoes for, anyway?

Luke rights his posture and reaches for both sides of his helmet, removing it from his head. His blonde hair bends at the junction of his neck and his bangs curve along his forehead. He huffs to blow his bangs away from his eyes, placing his helmet on the seat of the motorcycle. The roar of the engine fades, a wad of cotton removed from his ear canal. He sighs at the peaceful second of silence as he rounds the motorcycle.

“-totally him.”

“Get off it.”

“No. I will not.”

“Zeb?”

“It’s him.”

“Oh god.”

“Guys, leave him alone.”

A sun flare creeps across Luke’s sight. He squints to dismiss the light and notes three figures on motorcycles loitering in front of Kenobi’s store. His Chanel boots drag across the dirt and he inwardly sighs at being recognized.

Luke reaches the awning, using the shadows playing about his face to create his usual mask. 

But as he adjusts to the figures, he stops in his tracks.

Zeb Orrelios, Sabine Wren, and Ezra Bridger. The so-called bad boys of his high school, all perched on graffitied motorcycles covered in dizzyingly-colorful decals. Luke lifts his eyes to their leather jackets so his senses don’t implode from the extensive details.

Zeb is the classic jock, the heavyweight protecting the pack. He dunks on anyone that so much as looks at him the wrong way. He could easily be a quarterback, but his athletic presence is low key as a linebacker.

Sabine is a rainbow-haired tattoo artist covered in her own creations. Her earrings are homemade from trinkets on charm bracelets, offsetting her dark clothing. She’s the type of girl that stalks the halls like the world personally owes her a life debt but she had gotten used to the fact she would never receive a reward.

And Ezra Bridger, the hotshot that hangs out with Han Solo and Chewbacca. They’re a bunch of rejects that enjoy pulling pranks and catching the ire of their run-ragged teachers. They treat everything like a joke.

“Yo,” Sabine asks fearlessly, “is that the latest low rider?”

Luke squints his eyes, using his hands to shade the upper half of his expression. “Yeah?”

“Damn,” Ezra grumbles, “we didn’t know you liked Harleys.”

Luke indeed kept a lot of secrets from the student body. Taking an interest in his Dad’s vehicle collection is what he lives for; he has no real friends besides Ahsoka. He mostly kept to his studies at school, chatting with Leia’s coterie of friends solely to catch up on fashion trends.

“Sure you know how to handle that beast?” Zeb teases. 

Luke drops his hand away from his face and turns abruptly. He grips the convenience door handle hard and tears it open. The bell chimes violently at the jarring motion as Luke enters the store. 

The fluorescent lights and empty shelves greet him. Cold air tickles his cheeks, inviting him to the counter. Luke stands and raps his knuckles on the surface.

“Luke?” Satine’s head pokes out from the back room. Her narrowed eyes focus on him, then smooth out into a smile. As she advances, she picks up on his mood and asks, “what’s the matter, dear?”

“Did you say Luke?” The lilt precedes Obi-Wan’s appearance as well. He sets down a bucket of cleaning supplies as he sighs, “good, I need your help fixing the water main. Pipe’s leaking again.”

Satine chides, “not now, darling.” She frowns as she leans over at the counter, peering at Luke. “What have they done?”

Since Obi-Wan used to be Dad’s friend, he sends Luke a side glance. Luke reminds himself to be careful in his phrasing.

“I just get,” Luke sighs, casting his gaze to the counter surface, “tired of it all.”

“Aw,” Satine pats his cheek to make Luke smile, “poor baby.” Her voice takes on a dangerous edge. “What did they say to you?”

Luke mumbles, “that they’d take away my motorcycle if I don’t go to Mom’s gala.”

Satine’s hand leaves his cheek, clapping against the counter. She scowls. “Well that’s rude.”

Luke snorts in amusement as he meets her fiery blue eyes. Obi-Wan carefully strokes his ginger beard.

“Well,” Luke faces Obi-Wan, “I’ll fix that pipe for you.”

Obi-Wan looks ready to protest, but a heated glance from Satine causes him to simply nod.

Luke spends the next hour losing himself in his assigned task. Once the pipe is patched, it is almost time to return home for dinner. He figures Ahsoka is with Barriss somewhere.

“You know,” Obi-Wan muses as Luke washes up in their storeroom sink, “you’re a far more talented mechanic than your father.”

Luke towels off his hands, refusing to look in a mirror at his haggard appearance. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Obi-Wan hums but does not answer. “He made his choice. I don’t hold that against him.”

Luke heard the ‘you shouldn’t either’ even though Obi-Wan never said it aloud.

He turns away from the sink and says, “thanks for letting me hang out here.”

Obi-Wan nods as Luke exits the convenience store, thanking Satine as well on the way out.

When the door jingles closed, a voice murmurs, “hey.”

Luke jolts and turns around. His eyes widen, a hand on a racing heart. He drinks in Ezra sipping soda on his motorcycle. Alone.

“What,” Luke shakes his head, dropping his hand, “what are you doing?”

Ezra sips his soda loudly through a bendy straw. “I wanted to see if you were okay. You seemed upset.”

Luke narrows his eyes. Why is Ezra Bridger talking to him? They’ve never spoken before.

“Zeb feels bad for what he said,” Ezra murmurs. “Sabine already ear-pulled him.”

Luke says nothing. It is sunset, shadows playing about the open land. Ezra’s form glitters amongst the waning golden light, his leather jacket a shroud over his body.

Ezra rubs his hands, the soda bottle swirling at the motion. “He was going to apologize himself, but he knows what you do when somebody pisses you off at school. Had the guy speeding.”

Luke’s stink eye indeed garners both envy and fear. Once somebody gets on his bad side, they never so much as glanced in Luke’s direction again. The only one who is immune seems to be Zare.

“Well,” Ezra’s gloved hands set down the empty soda bottle on the dirt, “see you around.”

The soda bottle completes a three-beverage line on the ground, the other two being Sabine and Zeb’s drinks. Ezra turns the ignition on his motorcycle, revving the engine with a simple handlebar motion. Luke stands stunned as a helmetless Ezra grins at him and drives away in a flurry of rainbow decals.

Luke sighs at the bottles lining the dirt outside the store and leans down. He picks up the bottle necks and recycles them, muttering “the bin is literally right there.”

With that done, Luke goes to his motorcycle and drives home.

/

Ezra is everywhere after that.

Luke will round the corner of a hallway after stopping at his locker, and Ezra is lingering on the railway of the steps, legs dangling off the second floor. He would exit Mister Windu’s Physics class and find Ezra leaning against the bulletin board across the hall, meeting his eyes and smiling as he makes a half-hearted conversation with Ketsu. Luke would sit with Ahsoka and Barriss at lunch and narrowly miss Ezra’s tray as he passed purposefully close, raising a thick brow over his shoulder as he went to scheme with Han.

And after school, even when Luke’s actions were unpredictable, Ezra would be there. Luke shops around with his sister and her friends, and he catches the edge of Ezra’s leather jacket as he turns a corner. He goes to Kenobi’s, and Ezra lingers on his motorcycle under the awning like it’s his full time job, waving hello and goodbye. He goes to the public library with Ahsoka, and Ezra stalks the shelves as if trying to play hide-and-seek with him.

“What’s his deal?” Ahsoka asked while they studied at the library, nudging her head towards a ducking Ezra.

Luke makes a ‘psh’ sound and shrugs. Ahsoka does not mention it again as they go over math equations.

Finally, after Mom’s gala, Luke had had enough. Still in his finery, Luke drove his motorcycle to the movie theater, as he always did on Saturday nights. This theater played black and white films, early fifties technicolor, and any movie dubbed a Turner Classic. This weekend’s selection was Roman Holiday.

Luke parks his motorcycle around the side of the building. He hides it in the shadow of the alleyway and chains it to an exposed pipe. He turns his helmet upside down and conceals it against the thick tires. At that, he smooths out his gray dress pants, powder blue button-up, and brown penny loafers; he ditched the suit jacket the second he was free to leave his Mom’s stuffy event. He shakes out his hair, already losing its gelled-back quality, and walks to the box office.

Hobbie perks up as Luke approaches the glass booth. His eyes grow wide as he breathes, “hey, Luke. How are you?”

Luke refrains from huffing; Hobbie’s crush on him is constant. Hobbie does not take Luke’s rejections well, but it could be worse; they are still on friendly terms. 

“Hey,” Luke says uneasily, “I’ll see-”

“Roman Holiday?”

Luke clenches his jaw and whirls around. Ezra peers down at Hobbie through the glass, pointedly not meeting Luke’s livid gaze.

“Make it two, please,” Ezra tells Hobbie politely.

Hobbie looks between the two of them, then quietly punches in the order. Two paper tickets materialize from the slot beside Hobbie. He warily hands them the tickets through the glass opening.

“Enjoy the movie,” Hobbie says.

Ezra finally smiles at Luke. “Hey!”

Luke swipes his ticket and stalks away from the booth. He pushes open the double doors but does not hear them click closed.

He whirls around on the constellation carpet as Ezra careens into him. Ezra backpedals and catches himself just in time for Luke’s tirade:

“Are you stalking me or something?” Luke asks harshly, his lips curling into a snarl. “I already get enough of this shit at school, so I don’t appreciate being followed everywhere like I’m a pet here to amuse you!”

He clutches the paper ticket, careful not to crush the barcode in his fist. He stands to his full height, Ezra lowering himself to compensate. His eyes, though, show he is not intimidated by Luke.

“Okay,” Ezra holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m sorry if you misinterpreted what’s going on here, but-”

“Misinterpreted?” Luke scoffs and rolls his eyes. “That’s rich! As if I could ‘misinterpret’-”

As Luke makes haughty air quotes, Ezra blurts out, “I’ve been around all along, alright?!”

Luke loses steam at the proclamation, his body lurching and shrinking. His brows pinch together. He unclenches his hand, the ticket between his fingers. He exhales slowly out of his mouth as he asks, “how is that even possible?”

Ezra seems to gain confidence because Luke is listening to him now. He tilts his head up, his eyes gathering a sheen of boldness. 

“There’s not much to do in this town, in case you haven’t noticed,” Ezra says carefully. “I like looking in the shops even though I can’t afford to buy anything. I like going to Kenobi’s because he’s the only one with goddamn good soda. I like the library because my house is full of so much noise that I need to get away sometimes.”

Luke softens. He can relate to that last one.

“And I like coming to the movies alone,” Ezra soldiers on, “because no one in their right mind would bother me while I’m obsessing over old classics.” He exhales, a flicker of shyness playing about his gaze as it darts to the carpet plagued by stars and rocketships. “I’ve been around,” Ezra reiterates, “but you just never realized it. I promise I’m not stalking you.”

Luke regards Ezra as he falls silent. The emotions bubbling up in Luke are ones he cannot identify. Pity? No. Guilt? Maybe. He just doesn’t know. He’s at a loss.

Luke huffs at the similarly-short teenage boy as his gaze remains cast downwards. Ezra’s raven hair takes on notes of blue due to the fluorescent lights. His brows are thick and expressive, amplifying his dark blue eyes. His copper skin bronzes in the shadows, highlighting the prominence of his nose and the angular shape of his jaw. His leather jacket covers up a wrinkled white shirt and faded jean patches sew up denim rips at the knees. His boots are well-worn, their shine masked with dirt.

Ezra is no James Dean, but something about him exudes energy. Underneath the performance is something genuine.

Luke verbalizes a test. “What’s your favorite Audrey Hepburn movie?”

Ezra’s eyes lift upwards. “My Fair Lady.”

Luke blinks once. The overplayed answer is Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

“Though I think Roman Holiday,” Ezra adds, “is her most underrated performance.”

“What about her costar?” Luke asks, a deep part of him quivering in excitement. He’s never had anyone who shares his love of old films before.

“Gregory Peck?” Ezra bites the inside of his cheek. “While To Kill A Mockingbird is iconic, I actually like him most in Roman Holiday,” his mouth quirks upwards on one side, “which is also why I’m here.”

A floodgate of curiousityinterestintensity rushes out of Luke. He realizes he is holding his breath, and his chest collapses as he lets it go.

Luke opens his hand. The ticket remains unharmed in his palm. He looks back up at Ezra. 

Determined, Luke asks, “do you want to watch it with me? As an apology for being an asshole?”

Ezra’s eyes widen. “I wouldn’t call you an asshole,” his voice becomes eager, “but I’d like that.”

Luke’s instinct is to read into his behavior and wonder why Ezra is so adamant on hanging out with him, but he is tired of seeking ulterior motives in everybody he meets. Ezra hasn’t mentioned his family or his fortune once, hasn’t even remarked on his fancy clothes or their previous shaky encounters, so Luke deems the situation safe. 

Luke smiles and says, “great.”

He ushers Ezra to the snack counter. Within minutes, Luke had forgotten about the unpleasantness of Mom’s gala and his misplaced distaste for Ezra.

Luke focused on the here, the now, and as the movie projected onto the screen, he surrendered to the peace he felt sitting beside Ezra.


	2. I cursed my tongue for being mean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke awakens to a vibrating phone. The buzz increases in length after a moment, and he frowns. That’s definitely not his alarm.
> 
> He rolls over on the pillow and squints at the dancing phone in its charger. He blows his bangs away from his eyes and removes an arm from underneath the duvet. He leans over, fingers inching along the side of his phone. He unplugs the charger and turns the phone over, sitting up on the pillows. As he adjusts, the screen blinks to life at his touch.
> 
> Five New Messages from Ezra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a long time substituting honest with sarcastic,  
> And I cursed my tongue for being mean.
> 
> -Halsey, “Forever…(is a Long Time)”

Luke awakens to a vibrating phone. The buzz increases in length after a moment, and he frowns. That’s definitely not his alarm.

He rolls over on the pillow and squints at the dancing phone in its charger. He blows his bangs away from his eyes and removes an arm from underneath the duvet. He leans over, fingers inching along the side of his phone. He unplugs the charger and turns the phone over, sitting up on the pillows. As he adjusts, the screen blinks to life at his touch.

Five New Messages from Ezra.

Luke blinks; the memory of giving Ezra his number after they discussed Roman Holiday last night returns in a flash. He is rarely open to adding strangers to his contact list, so a slight pang of distrust hammers into his heart. He hopes he isn’t setting himself up for disappointment.

He unlocks the phone, the messaging app opening on its own.

-Hey-

-Good morning?-

-Hope I’m not bothering you but-

-I’ve been thinking about how Gregory Peck is oddly hot all night and it’s like-

-Am I the only one?-

Luke exhales a chuckle. Maybe Ezra wouldn’t be a mistake.

-No, you’re not the only one.-

Just as Luke is about to set the phone down, bubbles appear at the bottom of the screen. He waits.

-Oh good!-

-He really shouldn’t do it for me but-

-I can’t explain it!-

Luke smiles at the screen.

-It’s because he’s tall and respectful.-

Luke can practically hear Ezra’s gasp.

-YOU’RE RIGHT!-

-THAT’S BEEN BOTHERING ME THANK YOU!!!-

Luke laughs to himself before typing.

-You’re welcome. It took me a while to figure it out too.-

Ezra is endearing, and that’s something Luke never thought he would say. It is becoming too easy to separate school Ezra from the candid Ezra.

-Are you one of those people who ends TEXTS WITH PERIODS?!-

Luke can hear Ezra’s incredulousness.

-Yes.-

He can imagine Ezra’s well-meaning laugh, a sound Luke heard for the first time after Luke critiqued one of Audrey Hepburn’s dresses.

-Lol!-

-And hey um-

-I’ll be at Kenobi’s later?-

Luke checks his calendar.

-I have to take Ahsoka to the library.-

There is a pause before bubbles appear.

-I like her!-

-Could I bring my homework maybe?-

-Or not!-

-If I’m imposing!-

-I’m probably imposing-

-Sorry-

Luke snickers at the volley of fast texts.

-I’ll let her decide.-

He doesn’t look forward to having this conversation with Ahsoka, but Luke let Barriss hang out with them a lot. Maybe they could find a compromise.

And he also has no idea why he compared Ezra to Ahsoka’s girlfriend.

-Cool!-

-That sounds fair!-

-What time?-

Luke opens up his calendar again.

-1 pm.-

He barely has to wait a second.

-Okay!-

-Thanks!-

Once there are no more replies, Luke sets his phone back on the nightstand. He pulls the duvet away from his legs and rises to his feet. By the time he reaches the private bathroom and showers, his mind stops swimming.

Luke dresses in black leggings and a faded Queen tee; Sunday is when he kept a low profile. He runs a brush through his hair and descends the winding staircase in socks patterned with neon pink sunglasses.

As he enters the archway into the kitchen, he hears, “oh, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!”

Luke hides his eyeroll in the refrigerator door as he opens it. He grasps for the orange juice and turns towards the window. He procures a glass and pours the juice, sensing Leia’s pout.

“Mom and Dad have been waiting, you know,” she says curtly.

He frowns.

“Luke?” Dad calls from the adjacent dining room. “That you, buddy?”

Luke screws the cap back on the orange juice and refrains from glancing to his right. The refrigerator door closes with a rap-and-suction as he brings his glass into the dining room. 

He brushes past Leia and takes the seat nearest to the panoramic window. Dad is at the far end of the table while Mom is closest to the kitchen archway. Leia’s scowl burns Luke’s back as she plops across from him.

Luke observes the spread: two scrambled eggs to the left side of the gold-lined ceramic plate, a charred slice of bacon to the right, and a slice of lightly-buttered sourdough toast in the middle. Alongside the glass of orange juice, it’s a cutely-balanced nutritious breakfast.

He unfolds the cloth napkin and smooths it on his lap. He picks up the fork daintily and stabs his eggs.

As he chews, his eyes lift upwards. In her prim Pepto Bismol pink slip dress, Leia pulls a face. “You’re going to the auto show wearing that?”

Admitting that Luke forgot about the auto show would be admitting defeat. So he hides his expression in his lashes and gathers himself.

“Luke,” Mom says slowly, “you’re going to be a dear and come to the auto show, yes?”

Luke thinks fast; as he swallows the egg, he fakes a cough into his left shoulder.

Mom screeches back in her chair. “You’re sick?” She makes a clucking sound with her tongue. “Oh no!”

“Don’t cough in my direction,” Leia’s expression corkscrews, “I don’t need that in my life.”

Dad leans forward and hisses, “lick her water glass.”

Leia gasps. “Dad! Ew!”

Luke rolls his eyes as his Dad smirks.

“Well, honey,” Mom says, “the medicine is-”

“I know,” Luke mumbles.

“We’ll be gone-”

“Yeah,” Luke sighs, eyes cast on his plate as he bites on bacon. He cannot sieve the bitterness out of his tone no matter how hard he tries.

The dining room encapsulates in silence. Luke’s mind reels with all the ways he would have to sneak around to avoid his parents and sister today. It would be a Ferris Bueller-esque job, but it’s nothing he hasn’t done before.

Though the stakes have never been this high.

“Well,” Dad lightens the mood, “you have the keys to the kingdom, Luke. Enjoy it.”

/

Luke drives the back roads to ensure he doesn’t hit auto show traffic. He doesn’t allow himself to relax on his motorcycle until he reaches the open road, turning into Kenobi’s lot.

As Luke parks the Harley Davidson and removes his helmet, he is slapped with Ahsoka’s glare on the porch and Ezra’s sheepish smile.

The engine stops purring, Ahsoka’s voice loud as she says, “this knucklehead tells me you invited him to the library.”

“Yeah?” Luke prompts carefully.

Ezra emits an awkward chuckle. The early afternoon sunlight enhances his skin as his smile lights up the awning. His clothes are not as dark as usual, his leather jacket gone in favor of a light blue tee and torn jeans.

He looks oddly...good.

“I should’ve waited for you, maybe,” Ezra scratches his head, “sorry about that.”

Ahsoka stands, grasps at his hand, and tears Luke around the corner. “Excuse us.”

Luke is brought to an abrupt stop once they are out of earshot. Ahsoka raises a very speculative brow, visible even with her forehead covered in a lavender head wrap.

“What happened last night while I was on my date with Barriss?” Ahsoka asks slowly.

Luke is careful to answer in a neutral manner. “We ran into each other at the theater.”

Ahsoka blinks. “Ezra Bridger likes watching chick flicks as much as you do?” She snickers. “No wonder he hangs around Chewie. For protection!”

Luke sighs, “he’s really not so bad, ‘Soka. I swear on my Prada backpack.”

Ahsoka’s brows pinch together. “Are you seriously telling me he gets a bad reputation?”

Luke smiles. “Maybe you and I know a little bit about that, huh?”

Ahsoka exhales through her nose and, subdued, nods a single time. “Right.” 

With no warning, she drags him towards the awning. Ezra looks up at them from the shade, eyes expectant.

As Luke regains his footing, Ahsoka says, “word around the streets is you’re not an idiot. You can come if you help me with trigonometry.”

Ezra bobs his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ahsoka sends Luke an impressed look. “Did you teach him manners last night too?”

Ezra snorts, locking to Luke’s eyes amusedly. He stands up and brushes dirt off his jeans.

Luke hides his surprise at Ahsoka’s revelation. If Ezra is secretly smart, what else is Ezra hiding?

Luke and Ezra disperse to their motorcycles. Ahsoka follows Luke and pops on the extra helmet he brought, which Ahsoka decorated with travel stickers that had phrases like ‘Save the Trees’ and ‘Visit the Ski Slopes.’

When she was secure, she wrapped her arms around his waist and cast her chin over his shoulder. Over the noise of the ignition, Ahsoka shouts through the visor, “HE SURE LOOKS CUTE IN BLUE, HUH?!”

Luke presses the gas pedal, the ear-piercing rumble drowning out his burning blush and any possible indication that he heard her.

/

As Luke sighs happily at the absence of cars, he flops on his bed at a successful day of being Ferris Bueller. The man himself couldn’t say the same!

He blasts pop music and bobs his head, scrolling through social media. Leia posted a hundred Stories cataloguing every second of the auto show, drinking with Mara and Winter. Mom and Dad were as glamorous as ever in their toasts and false festivities, and Luke is gladder than ever that he lied to them.

Ezra Bridger was...interesting. He had a skeptical Ahsoka laughing in minutes at the library. He eased the tension whenever they got stuck on a math problem. He encouraged them to work on something else to refresh their minds.

With the bad boy visage stripped away, Ezra Bridger was full of surprises.

As Luke closes out of social media, the phone rings. It is Ahsoka. He dials the music off.

He barely has time to press the green button before she’s saying, “okay, so where has that guy been all our lives?! Obi will be so happy when my next trig test is an A!”

“You’re already too confident,” Luke chuckles, “that shall be your downfall if you let it.”

“Luke!” He has never heard Ahsoka sound so delighted. “I’m so glad you made a friend because I get to share him! It’s a win-win!”

Luke rolls his eyes. “We aren’t taking advantage of him, ‘Soka.”

“Oh no!” Ahsoka realizes what she’s saying and laughs. “I just mean! I’m so excited! For you! For my grades, sure, but mostly for you!” She teases, “I can’t be all the entertainment you have at school, Skyguy. Some of us have girlfriends to make out with.”

“Noted,” Luke scoffs, “and I’m,” he sighs at the admission, “I guess I’m glad too.”

“You finally have somebody to babble about old movies with,” Ahsoka points out, “and he’s cute!”

Luke sighs. The more she said it, the more he realized it; Ezra wasn’t...not attractive. But a romantic relationship isn’t what he wants. He could never subject anyone to his famous lifestyle. He can’t stand it himself, so how can he expect someone else to sign onto that who doesn’t have ulterior motives?

“Don’t do that,” Ahsoka chides, “don’t beat yourself up over things you can’t control. The least you can do right now is admit that he’s cute.”

Luke breathes, “I don’t want to think about it, okay?”

“I get it,” Ahsoka says in disappointment, “I still want you to remember something, okay? You. Deserve. Happiness. In whatever form that takes. Okay?”

“Okay,” Luke grumbles, “now stop being sappy. I need to celebrate a Bueller.”

“Ooh,” Ahsoka is baited, “are you telling me you’ve deceived your parents today?” She gasps in realization. “The auto show!”

A beep resounds on Luke’s smartphone screen. It is a call.

From Ezra.

“Uh,” Luke says incredulously, “Ezra’s calling.”

“Ooh! I’ll go. Answer him, answer him!” Ahsoka insists. “Bye!”

She drops her end of the call. Luke sighs and answers Ezra.

“Uh,” Ezra hesitates, “did I interrupt you?”

Luke freezes when he realizes Ezra heard his sigh. “No. Uh...no.”

“Thanks for letting me crash your party,” Ezra says, “I get tired of the same old thing, you know?”

A warning creeps up on Luke. Was Ezra only being his friend because Luke amuses him?

“I mean,” Ezra must catch what he said and how it could be interpreted wrong, “I wanna be your friend, Luke. Duh. I’m talking about how I spend my Sundays either locked in my room or wandering aimlessly.”

Luke frowns. “Do you not have Han and Chewbacca?”

“Oh, sure,” Ezra replies, “I see them too.” He clears his throat. “I’m not sure if I should ask this, but I’m just gonna do it. So, uh,” he hesitates, “is Ahsoka really your only friend?”

Strangely enough, there is no pity in Ezra’s tone. He may sound shy and careful when asking, but he isn’t sympathetic. Luke decides it’s a good thing.

“My only true blue friend,” Luke confirms, “if that’s what you mean.”

There is static.

“I know that school is tomorrow and you have to put your game face on,” Ezra says, “but don’t think you can’t talk to me, okay?”

The prospect of approaching Ezra at school where everyone can see is daunting to Luke.

Ezra must sense that, because he adds, “I meant outside of it, silly.” He scoffs. “I don’t wanna create more trouble for you.”

Luke frowns; does Ezra think that about himself? “You’re the farthest thing from trouble I’ve ever met,” Luke reassures him.

Ezra emits a two-tone chuckle, light and quick and enough to make Luke’s stomach flip. “Are you ready for the test in government class?”

Damn. 

Ezra lowers his voice. “I gotcha, didn’t I?”

“Right,” Luke recalls, “that’s Tuesday! Screw you!”

“Heh,” Ezra snort-laughs, “anyway,” there’s another shift of his phone, “I gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“S-Sure,” Luke fumbles.

The call ends. A roaring car engine tells Luke that his family is arriving home from the auto show.

In a panic, Luke messes up his room. He splashes water on his face to mimic sweat and ruins his hair. He drags a blanket off of his bed and wraps it around himself, shuffling slowly towards the top of the staircase. As his parents and sister enter the mansion, Luke puts on a worthy show.

/

The mansion garage contains twenty cars, five motorcycles, and several motorized scooters. It is the size of the West Wing at the White House, taking up thirty percent of the Skywalker mansion’s space. It is a cavernous monument to the family fortune, and the only reason Luke can stand being inside the garage is because his baby is here: his Harley Davidson.

Luke wipes down the dirt from his motorcycle trips earlier that day. It is almost midnight, so he deems it safe to prep his motorcycle for school.

He soaks a wet rag in a bucket of soap. He makes a circular motion around the back tire, scraping grime away from the Amidala Auto logo. As his fingernails dig into the opposite side of the cloth, allowing the soap to bubble the grooves, he senses a disturbance.

His shoulders tense. A figure drags over a stool from the mechanic table, plopping down behind him.

Clenching his jaw, Luke crab-walks into a turn. His legs crouch as he looks up at Dad wearing sweats, his wavy hair tied back in a bun.

“I came to check on you,” Dad says with an arched brow, “you know.”

Oh shit.

The rag slips from Luke’s fingers, plopping with a wet smack on the concrete. He purses his lips and exhales deeply through his nose to remain calm.

Dad crosses his arms, reclining on the table. “But you know what? I’m not going to tell your mother.”

Dad waits for Luke to ask the obvious question, but he stays quiet instead. Luke clams up in shame.

“‘Gee, Dad,’” he mimics a poor excuse of Luke’s voice, “‘what inspired you to do such a wonderful thing on my behalf?’”

Luke studies Dad warily. He does not laugh.

“Well,” Dad sighs, “I know it’s hard. I know it is, having to go through all this trouble for a photo op. I’m not immune to getting pissed about it every once in a while.”

Funny, Luke couldn’t tell if that was the truth. It seemed effortless for Dad to be a trophy husband.

Dad crosses one leg over the other. “But don’t make a habit of this, alright? I’m on your side as far as being a kid, but withholding information from your mother is never a good idea.”

Luke nods in agreement.

“Okay,” Dad hops off the stool, “now go to sleep when you’re done with that. Hear me?”

“Yes,” Luke mumbles.

Dad snaps his fingers.

Luke clears his throat and projects his voice. “YES!”

“Good.” Dad turns and exits the garage.

Luke sighs at a failed Bueller and picks up the soapy rag, dunking it in water.

/

Luke watches the clock tick through his study period. His hand props up his cheek, elbow on the desk, as the seconds strike twelve. 

Only five more of those, and he can go to English class with Miss Billaba, his favorite teacher.

He glances down at his notebook, left splayed out with notes describing the three branches of government in painstaking detail. He has faith that he will pass this test, so he took the time to daydream.

Ezra caught his eye ten times today. Once in the parking lot as Luke shakes out his helmet hair after finding a space for his Harley Davidson. Once as he entered the building earlier than most students, Ezra dangling off of a railing with Han as they laughed about something. Twice in Physics class, when they walked into the room and exited it. Thrice between passing periods when they rounded opposite corners or crossed hallways. Twice at lunch as Ezra and Han made a ruckus about acquiring the last chicken fingers. And once before study period, a stare that became a smile, a little side twitch of his mouth as Luke ducked inside this very room.

It wasn’t like Ezra was doing anything bad, or Luke was opposed to it, but he didn’t know what to do! Keeping up appearances was easier for Luke knowing that someone besides Ahsoka realizes how tricky it is being the son of a famous person.

The clock reaches its final rotation. The world stutters.

Jai appears in the doorway, the study room teacher closing his book. Luke quickly eyes the principal’s slip in his hand, jolting when Jai meets his gaze.

The pink slip raises in the air as a salute to Luke. The classroom notices the exchange and emits childish “ooh’s.”

Luke burns as he rises from his desk. He stuffs his notebook in his backpack and beelines for Jai, leaving the room.


	3. I cursed the ground for growing green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra knew something was wrong when he flew down the high school front steps and saw Luke’s motorcycle was gone.
> 
> Mind reeling, he realizes that he hadn’t seen Luke since lunch. A lot could have gone wrong in that time.
> 
> Ezra’s worn boots touch the bottom of the stairs. He lurches on the concrete, using a clumsy hand to hold himself steady on the railing.
> 
> Why does it feel like something bad happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a long time watering a plant made out of plastic,  
> And I cursed the ground for growing green.
> 
> -Halsey, “Forever…(is a Long Time)”

Ezra knew something was wrong when he flew down the high school front steps and saw Luke’s motorcycle was gone.

Mind reeling, he realizes that he hadn’t seen Luke since lunch. A lot could have gone wrong in that time.

Ezra’s worn boots touch the bottom of the stairs. He lurches on the concrete, using a clumsy hand to hold himself steady on the railing.

Why does it feel like something bad happened?

He exhales after walking too fast. Students pass him with their backpacks while Ezra is stopped dead on the sidewalk.

Swallowing thickly, Ezra untucks his phone from his leather jacket pocket. His hand shakes as he dials Luke’s number and presses the phone to his ear. A chill reaches his spine. The ringing phone has him on edge, lying in wait.

A thick and dazed voice answers. “Ezra?”

Ezra breathes shallowly, “are you okay, Luke?”

There is a sniffle. “Yeah.”

A shadow descends on Ezra’s surroundings. It is as if Luke switched off the sun’s permission to shine.

“You don’t sound okay,” Ezra says quietly, walking under a dead tree for a semblance of quiet. He ignores prying students walking by as he murmurs, “where did you go? Did you leave early?”

“Uh,” there is static, “I just,” Luke huffs, “it’s stupid, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

Dread creeps in on Ezra like a cold breeze. “I’m not convinced. Tell me where you are. Please?”

Luke sighs begrudgingly, but answers, “the flood channel.”

The call is broken off. Ezra clenches his jaw and stalks over to his motorcycle.

As he steps off the sidewalk, he hears a familiar, “hey, buddy, what’s up?” Han lightly touches his shoulder. 

Ezra turns around on the parking lot divider line. He slackens his tense shoulders and mutters, “I have to do something, alright?”

Han frowns, Chewie a silent lumberjack behind him. They were both good guys, so Ezra feels bad for making them worry.

“Oh,” Han puts on a puppy dog face, “alright. Are we still on for-”

“Course,” Ezra bobs his head, “I’d never cancel those days.”

Han smiles wanly, though he is not at ease by Ezra’s behavior. “Thanks, man. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Ezra confirms.

Han’s hand leaves his shoulder. Ezra walks across the parking lot to his motorcycle. 

As he rides away from the school, he enters a default calm. He focuses on the winding roads and dodging past cars. A young boy gapes at him as he successfully banks a corner while hardly slowing his speed. 

He reaches the westward outskirts of town. Unnatural trees are replaced by cacti and weeds. Sand dusts the edges of the road as he drives to the flood channel. 

He slows as the mass of concrete comes into view. It creates an underground convex structure that prevents the town from flooding.

Ezra brakes as a motorcycle and a teenage boy enters his vision. He tears the key from the ignition and levers the eclectic motorcycle. Luke’s sleek Harley Davidson is a stark contrast against the gray and yellow. Luke himself has no trouble plopping in the dirt as he stares down at the flood channel.

He doesn’t look like the son of a famous heiress anymore.

Ezra approaches Luke and crisscrosses on the ground. He sits so that he is perpendicular to Luke, giving him enough space to move away if he wishes.

“Hey,” Ezra says gently.

Luke’s pale face clashes with the heat of the sun, a rosy flush burning his cheeks. His gaze does not leave the concrete even though Ezra is beside him. His hair blows in the breeze, darker in tone, as if muddied by a layer of sand. His skin is covered in dried tear tracks, eyes glistening gray-blue.

Did this make Luke any less attractive? Unfortunately to Ezra, the answer is no.

“You missed Jai declare in math class that eighty-six percent of jobs require simple addition and subtraction, not calculus,” Ezra says.

That gets Luke to snicker, though his eyes do not swivel towards Ezra. “I admire Jai’s tenacity for cutting out advanced math programs.”

A moment of silence. A breeze whistles through Ezra’s ear and casts his shoulder-length hair to one side.

Luke exhales through his nose. “The principal called me to her office.”

Ezra sits up ramrod straight. “Principal Mothma?” He means to exclaim in disbelief, but it comes out a whispered hiss.

“Mhm,” Luke scoots and faces Ezra, though his head bows, “apparently my grades aren’t up to par for my social status.”

“Uh,” Ezra blinks as his mind processes the words, “aren’t you a straight A student?”

“Not lately,” Luke mumbles. His fingers touch a green dot present in the sand. “Instead of talking to me, Mom contacted the principal and made her sternly instruct me to be the best possible model for our school.”

Ezra’s brows pinch together. He couldn’t fathom being in Luke’s place. Luke is watched everywhere he goes, even at home. Luke is the recipient of shameless flirts and judged on his appearance. And it seems that nothing Luke does is good enough, when all Ezra wants to do is crush the world’s unwarranted hatred in his fist and present Luke with a pearl oyster.

“Does Leia,” Ezra poses, “get this much attention for her grades?”

Luke’s lip wobbles. “No.”

“Then why are you bothered by it?” Ezra shrugs. “Don’t listen to them. They think they’re helping you by pushing you past your limits, but they’re hurting you, so don’t listen. If they’re hurting you, I think you reserve the right,” he makes his voice airy, “to do whatever the fuck you want.”

Luke’s bewildered eyes lift up. “I…”

He glances down at the green dot in the sand. His fingertip brushes it; Ezra realizes the dot is a flower bud, aching to push through the dirt and grow where it is not allowed.

He murmurs, “thank you.”

Luke’s long lashes flicker away from the flower bud. Their eyes lock, Luke’s tears gone altogether.

Ezra clears his throat. “Don’t thank me. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Luke asks hesitantly, “would you mind...sitting with me for a little bit?”

“No,” Ezra replies, “I wouldn’t mind.”

They both look down on the flood control gutter. Ezra studies the cracks in the concrete so that he doesn’t study the boy beside him by accident.

As they fall into silence, Ezra’s head throbs with the knowledge that it’s the most comfortable he’s felt in a long time.

/

“Goddammit,” Han mutters as he messes with the cables, “television’s on the fritz again.”

He ensures the electrical plugs and outlets are secure by jiggling them around. When he reaches the end of the line, the static returns to clear cable.

“Good job, handyman,” Ezra quips from his perch on the pink couch. The protective plastic is so slidy he has to crisscross with an arched back to stay in place.

“Heh,” Han sits on the unoccupied cushion, the plastic squeaking as he flops back uncontrollably, “sure you don’t wanna be at homecoming right now?”

For the past month, Ezra has been hanging out with Luke on the sly. They’ve seen a classic movie every weekend: Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, and Modern Times. It never ceased to astound Ezra how Luke’s mind develops in-depth criticisms and notes of appreciation for certain scenes or dialogue lines. Strolling past glaring street lamps on gum-stuck sidewalks had a new appeal when those same harsh lights made Luke’s grin glow.

On top of movie nights, they texted or called one another every day when they were doing homework. Ahsoka and Barriss joined in to study over FaceTime as well; Ezra ignored the fact that they were categorized into poetic couplets, where one complemented the other.

They also went to Kenobi’s on their motorcycles to talk after a rough day at school. Luke particularly wanted to eat a pack of Twizzlers after Zare came to relentlessly ask Luke out on dates. The fact that Luke trusts Ezra over any other guy to sit with silently was something he took pride in, though he would never admit it for fear of sounding like he was taking advantage. That was the last thing he was doing; Ezra does not have the guts to say it aloud, but he understands keenly that Luke needs a friend.

Now, it is homecoming weekend. Luke asked Ezra the previous day if he was going to the dance that the school buzzed about for weeks, but he shook his head. He never went to dances, though a part of him yearned to go with Luke. As a friend!

Though Ezra still wasn’t deterred. He stayed mum and said he planned on hanging out with Han, which was technically true, but he didn’t go into detail about helping Han care for his sick grandmother and mother. Han preferred to keep it quiet so no one would pity him, which Ezra did with his own personal life, so he understands the benefits of a mystery.

But Ezra aches to check Instagram. The dance was happening as he sits in Han’s house watching a Spanish game show over a static television set. If he trained his right ear, he could listen to the heart monitor of Han’s grandmother or the sleep apnea machine hooked up to his mother’s bed.

Luke probably looks good tonight. He always looks good. A fashion icon for the ages, better than his famous mother. The amount of times Ezra was taken aback by what Luke wore and how the colors complimented his features was too lengthy to count.

It is probably best that Ezra didn’t go to the dance. He didn’t accidentally want to drool over Luke’s expensive Chucks.

He repeated his mantra: Luke is a friend. Luke is a friend. Luke is a friend.

“Uhhh,” Han waves his hand in front of Ezra’s face, “did you zone out there, man?”

Ezra blinks. Did Han ask him a question?

“I seriously doubt Doce Corazones is so enthralling for you,” Han says warily.

Ezra musters a smile as his head swivels towards Han on the couch. “I’ll have you know that zodiac signs are very fascinating to me.”

“Psh,” Han swats his hand to dismiss the statement, “what’s going on, Ezra? You’ve been weird all day.”

Ezra turns towards the television to mask his expression. “Maybe you’re the one being weird.”

“Come on,” Han scoots closer, the couch plastic squeaking against his pants, “level with me here.”

Ezra blows air out of his mouth. As the exhale is completed, he keeps his eyes glued to the game show screen. “I’ve made a new friend.”

The plastic squelches as Han shifts again. “Really? Who?”

“Luke.”

Ezra delights in how a single syllable disrupts Han’s carefully-constructed balance. He slides off the couch and plants on the carpet.

Han stands shakily, huffing to move his floppy hair away from his face. He moves to a kneeling position and glances up at Ezra on the couch.

“Are we both talking about the same Luke here?” Han breathes, on the verge of screeching in a genuine panic.

“Is there any other Luke in our high school?” Ezra teases.

Han pants, “have you gone crazy?!”

Frowning, Ezra regards his friend’s wide bright eyes. “What?”

Han gulps in air as if he just ran several blocks. “You like him.” 

Ezra loses his breath. Han stares at him, knows him far too well. Ezra thought he could hide the signs after failed crushes over the years, but Han could tell. Shit.

“You do,” Han nods once, “you like him.” He points at Ezra as if ready to accuse him of something, but his shoulders deflate. “Couldn’t you have picked another guy?” 

Han laughs breathily as soon as the words are uttered. Ezra can’t help but chuckle too.

“Never mind,” Han shakes his head, “this is a trademark Ezra Bridger move.”

Ezra says in amusement, “I suppose my unpredictability has become...predictable. Boo.”

“So,” Han sighs as he plops back on the plastic couch, “you don’t have the balls to go to the dance, huh?”

“It’s not that I don’t have the balls,” Ezra rolls his eyes, “I’m just...not trying to...do that. Not trying to impress him.”

“I see,” Han nods once. “He probably gets that all the time, right?”

Ezra recalls Zare getting on his knees in front of Luke at his locker. Zare’s attempt to ask Luke to the dance, though, was put down with a gentle refusal; Luke already promised to bring Ahsoka, since Barriss would be out of town with her business-savvy parents. Zare’s persistence, however, meant he took each rejection as another step closer to victory.

Ezra’s mouth twitches, gaze cast downwards. His tone turns somber. “Yeah.”

Han’s frown is prominent as he says, “so you don’t want to go to homecoming...why?”

“I’m not some knight in shining armor, Han. You know that.”

“Is this because you don’t want to see him with somebody else?” Han guesses.

Ezra shakes his head. 

“Is this because you haven’t told him about your family?”

Ezra worries his lip. “That hasn’t come up yet, but I won’t hide it from him.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t want to cause him any trouble.”

“Trouble?” Han scoffs. “That sounds fake, but okay.”

Ezra purses his lips. “Luke is...I don’t know the exact nature of his...situation...but it upsets him. Guys bothering him. Being famous. You know?”

Han bristles. “Based on Leia, I thought Luke would be the same way. But he’s not?”

“They’re opposites,” Ezra says carefully, as if he were revealing a secret he shouldn’t.

“Well if that’s the case,” Han lowers his voice, the Spanish game show filtering back into the conversation after a commercial break, “he needs all the help he can get at that dance.”

Ezra shuts down, “I don’t want to do that to him. Let’s watch Doce Corazones and forget about it, alright?”

Han sighs at Ezra’s stubbornness. “Fine. But hang on.”

Han whips out his smartphone. Ezra turns back to the game show while he opens an app and scrolls.

When he is silent for a moment, Ezra realizes what Han is up to. Ezra bites the inside of his cheek in preparation for his friend’s words.

Han exhales a low whistle. “Goddamn. Maybe you’re right.”

Ezra’s gaze slides over in terrified anticipation. Han opens an Instagram Story and holds it up to Ezra.

He forgets how to breathe as he drinks in a video of Luke slow dancing with Ahsoka. His best friend wore a shimmering turquoise gown with a slit to the middle of her thigh. Pearly beads in her hair and shiny jewels on her bare neck and wrists instantly caught his eye.

But when he saw Luke, it was as apocalyptic as Ezra expected. Luke wore a white poet shirt, complete with an exposed collarbone, puffy sleeves, and frilly wristbands. His dark dress pants were cinched in tight to show off his figure as he swayed to the rhythm of the music. Tap shoes clacked in silver-toed steps; the ensemble would only work for Luke.

“You’d definitely lose your mind if you saw him in person,” Han murmurs.

Ezra’s mind reels as Luke and Ahsoka tear up the dance floor. Strobe lights enhance their outfits as they laugh and match each other step-for-step, carefree and blissful amidst the attention mounting around them.

Ezra frowns as he looks at the user who posted the Story: Leia. Fire emoji stickers engulf the video in a rolling animation.

Han closes out of Instagram and studies Ezra’s flushed expression. At his pointed look, Ezra scowls.

Han pockets his phone. He says nothing as he slowly brings his attention to Doce Corazones.

Ezra festers in the following silence, but he does not break it. The Spanish game show washes over him until he is numb.


	4. You cut me open, sucked the poison from an aging wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Honey,” Leia whips off her sunglasses, their glare unexpectedly hitting the sunset, “tell me everything right now or I’ll scissor your favorite Balenciaga jacket.”
> 
> Luke drags his finger down his cheek from eye to chin, miming a tear. “No,” he stands on the edge of the sidewalk, “no, I don’t think I will, boo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And weightless, breathless restitute,  
> Motionless and absolute,  
> You cut me open, sucked the poison from an aging wound.
> 
> -Halsey, “Forever…(is a Long Time)”

Luke teeters on the edge of the sidewalk. He puts one foot directly in front of the other, trying to maintain his balance with his arms held out like wings. If he rolls his shoulders back and breathes calmly, he can complete the feat with no issues.

A familiar hum of a drop top convertible causes Luke to sigh and stop his experiment. He takes in the sight of his sister’s baby pink car parked an inch from the sidewalk. A cacophony of girlish laughter ceases as the key is torn from the ignition. The motor rumbles and kicks to a halt. Luke swivels his head towards the occupants inside the vintage car.

“Yo!” Leia glares at him even whilst wearing magenta sunglasses. Her high ponytail swings as she glances at a posh Winter and Mara in the back seat. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and be our bag guy?”

Luke walks to the passenger’s side of her convertible. He arches over the Barbie car and tips down his pair of Aviators for dramatic effect.

His grin is too bright and his voice has an edge. “Frankly, moonshine,” he side-eyes a pouting Winter and Mara, “I would prefer my self-guided Miyagi meditation rather than become your lost puppy in a strip mall.”

Leia purses her lips.

“Besides, sister dear,” Luke’s eyes glint as he teases, “don’t you know I’m waiting for a hot date?”

He enjoys Leia’s slow jaw drop, a gasp sucking the air out of the convertible as Winter and Mara join in on her shock.

“Honey,” Leia whips off her sunglasses, their glare unexpectedly hitting the sunset, “tell me everything right now or I’ll scissor your favorite Balenciaga jacket.”

Luke drags his finger down his cheek from eye to chin, miming a tear. “No,” he stands on the edge of the sidewalk, “no, I don’t think I will, boo.”

Leia points at him in accusation. “I’m coming for your Balenciaga jacket when I get home. Mark my words, Luke!”

“Okay,” Luke says airily. He shrugs. “Not like I can’t buy another one. The store’s right there.” He nudges his head to the northeast, where designer stores lined the street.

Leia emits an unladylike growl. “I will discover everything. It’s one way or the other.”

She forces her door open, rounding the front of the car. She shoots him a look as Winter and Mara exit the backseat daintily. 

As Leia stalks away with her friends towards the Chanel store, Luke leaves in the opposite direction. He rounds the block, leaving his motorcycle and helmet far enough behind. He rips off his Aviators as he walks and dangles them over the collar of his shirt.

He stands under the awning of the movie theater, stuffing his hands in his black jean pockets. His shoulders hunch slightly at a wind chill; he had forgotten a jacket to pair with his washed-out Ghostbusters tee.

“Boo.”

Luke rolls his eyes as Ezra approaches from the opposite side of the movie theater. “That was weak. There was no commitment in your voice.”

Ezra snorts. He wears his usual outfit: torn jeans, a tee, and a leather jacket. The only difference is Ezra’s hair pulled back in a ponytail, highlighting his jawline.

“I wasn’t sure if you were the type of guy who would slap me across the face for scaring you or not,” Ezra defends jokingly. “Sorry if I err on the side of caution for my own safety.”

“I’m not that dramatic,” Luke scrunches his nose, a tinge of worry in his tone as he asks, “am I?”

“No,” Ezra’s eyes dart behind Luke, “speaking of dramatic, I saw your sister going to the store huffing about a date?”

Luke’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. The flush instantly catches Ezra’s eye.

“Was she talking about you?” Ezra gapes. “You have a date?”

“No,” Luke shakes his head, “I said that to get her off my back.”

“Oh,” Ezra blinks, “okay.” He smiles. “You know you could tell me if you did, right? Go on a date?”

“I’ll let you know if the boys at school suddenly stop being an annoyance.”

Ezra’s expression falls.

Luke scoffs. “Not you, idiot!”

“Oh!” Ezra brightens. “Thank you!”

“And you can tell me if you ever want to see,” Luke hesitates, “a boy? A girl? Someone?”

Ezra laughs. “That’s the best summation of bisexuality I’ve ever heard. And yeah,” he shifts on his feet, “I’ll tell you.”

Seeking another topic of conversation, Luke eyes a sticker on Ezra’s hand. He furrows his brows.

Ezra lifts up his hand; the back of it is covered in a pop-up pumpkin sticker. He announces, “Sabine gave me a scented sticker.”

Ezra holds it towards Luke. He steps into Ezra’s personal space and sniffs. Luke immediately wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“Don’t like pumpkin spice?” Ezra prompts, a giggle laced into the question.

“I don’t get the big whoop,” Luke offers with a shrug. He straightens his posture and clears his throat. “Should we go?”

“Right!” Ezra gasps as if he forgot they were in front of the theater. “It’s the start of Hitchcock movie month! Have you really not seen any of his movies?”

Luke shakes his head.

Ezra’s features jump in excitement. “I can’t wait to enlighten the unenlightened.”

“Isn’t it just, like,” Luke cringes, “horror? Because I hate horror movies.”

“No!” Ezra shakes his head vigorously. “Whoever told you that is a moron! That’s not Hitchcock at all.” Ezra gets bold and impassioned as they walk towards the box office. “I know everyone harps on the whole ‘Master of Suspense’ title, but you know what he conveys better than suspense?”

There is a pointed silence. Luke sighs loudly. 

“I don’t know,” Luke halts them in line at the box office, “what?”

“Paranoia,” Ezra replies. “You can’t have suspense without paranoia.”

“Yeah,” Luke watches the couple disperse in front of them, “I guess you’re right.”

As usual, Luke receives a lovelorn look from Hobbie as they buy tickets. Hobbie chirps a half-hearted “enjoy the movie” and they enter the establishment.

/

They exit the movie theater after their viewing of Rear Window. They walk companionably down the pathway, Ezra bouncing in anticipation for Luke’s opinion.

Ezra leans down to set his empty soda can on the ground, but Luke chides, “recycling bin.”

At the order, Ezra stomps over to the special trash bin. Grumbling in a false protest, he drops the aluminum can in the recycling bin and falls back into step with Luke. 

Ezra resumes his curious expression. It confuses Luke. Why does Ezra care so much about what Luke thinks?

Luke realizes Ezra’s camera is on, the smartphone held up in front of his face. He bats his lashes and halts them near a movie poster on the side of the theater.

“For record keeping,” Ezra explains without really explaining. 

Oddly enough, Luke is not put off by the recording. He usually swatted away cameras and stayed off social media unless he was at a sparkly event.

Luke sighs, “I suppose I understand the appeal of Alfred Hitchcock’s film style.”

“Yayyyyy,” Ezra lowers his phone and pockets it, “sorry, that’s for anyone who tries to make fun of me for liking old movies so much.”

“That’s smart,” Luke bobs his head once in contemplation, “I should do that too.”

Impulsively, Luke switches his phone to video mode. He flips the camera so he sees his own face and presses play.

“So apparently,” Luke drawls, “I was told to document the fact that I trashed Alfred Hitchcock for no good reason,” Ezra’s endearing laugh filters into the audio, “and I suppose I’ll like watching these films every weekend to celebrate Halloween with one,” he glances over at Ezra’s smirk, “Ezra Bridger. Okay.” He clicks off the phone and stuffs it back in his pocket. “This begins The Vlogs That Only We Will See,” Luke declares.

“Nice,” Ezra nods in approval, “want me to walk you to your Harley?”

Luke snickers. “I think I can handle walking a block. It’s not even dark out.”

“Okay,” Ezra twirls around, the sides of his leather jacket flapping at the motion, “apparently I’ll be at the library helping Barriss pass her finance class, so stop by if you can.”

Luke frowns, but Ezra does not catch it as his face is hidden over his shoulder. He turns fully and Luke chimes “bye.”

As Ezra walks in the opposite direction, Luke strides down the lamplit sidewalk. The frown deepens as he refuses to step on any cracks in the pavement.

Ezra always did that: never pressured Luke to hang out with him, never asked what Luke was doing when he said he had a family event, never mentioned the homecoming dance after making the excuse of doing something with Han.

Luke wasn’t sure if he should be raising a bright red flag or be thankful that Ezra respected boundaries. He is split between questioning Ezra about his own home life and asking why Ezra is so cool with Luke’s extraordinary circumstances.

Both required a question, though. An inquiry that Luke was apprehensive to make.

As he sits on his motorcycle and revs the engine, he decides that he’ll say something by Halloween.

/

It is Luke’s intention to tiptoe through the mansion and sneak off to bed, but when the lights are on, he curses. He should have never messed with Leia like that. He would pay for it in torn Balenciaga jackets and a slew of questions he had no clue how to answer.

The engine cuts; Luke doesn’t bother to mask his presence. He leaves his helmet on the handlebar as he ushers the Harley Davidson against the side of the driveway.

Nervously, his keys clink in his hand. He ascends the porch steps. He jiggles the double door handle and it clicks open. It inches backwards, inviting him closer to his doom.

Ugh. Shit.

Luke passes the threshold before he can run away from the problem. His mind and heart race as he shuts the doors behind him and enters the foyer. He is careful not to scuff the galaxy quartz tile as he toes off his shoes and leaves them on the silver runner.

He pads into the sitting room and halts in the archway. Leia is gleeful on the couch as she crosses her legs and beams.

“Hey, stud,” Leia winks, “how’d your date go?”

“Fine,” Luke responds, grooming a neutral expression.

His gaze slides away from her. Mom and Dad do not look pleased.

Mom folds her hands in her lap, prim despite being dressed down in old pajamas. Her curly chocolate ponytail swings as she says, “darling, I thought we agreed you would tell us if you chose a prospective partner.”

Dad scoffs, “she doesn’t mean that.” Mom shoots him a look, and he holds up a hand of surrender. “Just let me, okay?”

Mom falls silent in a shocking move of complacence. Leia glances between them in anticipation as Luke approaches the maroon velvet couch.

Dad lowers the hand and regards Luke. “We think it’s great you’re seeing someone. Your Mom and I would just like to know who it is before you make big decisions, okay?”

Luke blinks once. Dangerously.

His voice is low and careful. “Are you telling me I have to report to you if I want to go places now?”

“Where did you go, dear?” Mom asks neutrally.

“The movies,” Luke sounds out, “where I always go on Saturday nights.”

Dad smiles, but hesitantly regards Mom on the other side of the couch. He says gently, “he just went to the movies, angel. That’s a safe date, isn’t it?”

Mom is quiet for a beat. Her gaze darts from her jeweled hands and back up to Luke.

She takes a breath before asking, “who is this boy?”

Her tone suggests to Luke that he can’t tell her the truth. That and Leia’s hungry eyes meant he could never confess he hangs out with the so-called bad boy of their high school.

If only they knew Ezra was sweet...but no. They would never know that. The way they’re reacting to a simple movie night is already overblown; he could imagine the aneurysm that the prospect of Ezra, no matter how false and misleading, would cause.

Luke cringes at the boy whose name comes to his mind as a cover. He hates himself when he replies:

“Derek.”

Luke’s wince at the fib is masked by Leia’s gasp.

“Hobbie?!” Leia squeals and jumps in her seat. “He’s such a sweetheart! Oh!” She giggles as she looks at their parents. “You don’t need to worry! He’s shy but adorable!”

Luke doesn’t miss Mom and Dad exhaling in a sign of deep relief.

Yeah, he could never tell them about Ezra.

/

Hobbie yelps when Luke appears by his locker. “Oh! Hah!” He chuckles. “H-Hi, Luke.”

Luke frowns, ducking his head sheepishly. He ensures the morning crowd is loitering outside the high school building before taking a breath.

“Hey, um,” Luke worries his lip, “I may have...done something bad? And I’m sorry but I-I need your help.”

Hobbie closes his locker door with a push. His books are cradled in his knit sweater-clad arms, pressed against his chest. “Uh, okay? What is it?”

Luke sighs, “I kinda...sorta...told my sister we went out on a movie date because I didn’t want to tell her I went with Ezra.”

Hobbie’s pale skin flushes. “Oh.”

“Again, I’m sorry, but,” Luke asks shyly, “can you tell anybody who asks that we had a great time but we decided it wouldn’t work out?”

Hobbie stares at Luke for a moment. Amidst his usual kicked puppy look, a realization dawns on him. His eyes widen as he sucks in a breath.

“You like him,” Hobbie weighs. “You like him, don’t you?”

Luke’s cheeks heat up. “N-no,” he rushes out. “Not like that. Um. No.”

“You do,” Hobbie emphasizes. “You can’t hide that from me.”

Luke’s mouth falls open at the accusation. It is not blatant in that anyone is around to eavesdrop, but it feels like a personal attack.

Why is he so goddamn flustered about a misunderstanding on Hobbie’s part?

“Look,” Hobbie says, taking Luke’s attention away from his reeling mind, “I understand your rejection, and while I haven’t done the best job at handling it, I don’t feel like lying for you.”

Luke blinks, then nods slowly; he respects Hobbie’s stance. “I get it. Sorry to bother you.”

He decides to dash as far away as possible. He barely turns on his heel before he hears a meek, “Luke?”

He freezes and turns at Hobbie’s quiet prompt.

“Ezra seems like a good guy,” Hobbie says, “and I think you should give it a shot.”

Luke bristles. Hobbie takes advantage of his shock and hurries to his first class of the day.

As students file into the school, Luke stands in a daze until Ahsoka elbows him to walk to class.


	5. Fifty thousand war cadets would cower at this small brunette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just so you know,” Ahsoka says after a moment, “he’s going to be here in five, four, three…”
> 
> The convenience store bell hits against the glass door harshly. Luke’s spine straightens as he blinks at the advancing footsteps and haggard breaths.
> 
> When a leather jacket and worried expression comes into view, Luke’s heart stutters.
> 
> “Luke,” Ezra breathes, his wide eyes growing concerned and softening with each step towards the counter, “I’ve been trying to talk to you in person for days. What’s going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now fifty thousand war cadets,  
> Would cower at this small brunette.  
> To my surprise, not six feet high,  
> Who’d reach and grab the moon if I,  
> Should ask or just imply,  
> That I wanted a bit more light,  
> So I could look inside his eyes,  
> And get the colors just right.
> 
> -Halsey, “Forever (is a Long Time)”

Luke sighs in relief as he pushes open the chiming doors of Kenobi’s. The cold air is a blessing to his clogged pores as it tickles his burning skin. 

He has been watched closely ever since Leia confronted Hobbie at school and found out Luke lied about their movie date. Leia’s eyes bore into him at every turn of a hallway and during every class they shared together. When she told their parents and they had a family meeting about the harmfulness of lies, Luke has been paying for his impulsiveness with Hobbie. He’s regretted it every day since, especially because Luke had more eyes on him than usual.

Permission to go to Kenobi’s has been the first time Luke truly breathed in a while. Sure, he had gone to see more Hitchcock movies with Ezra, but Luke kept looking over his shoulder while the projector screened the films. During Psycho, Luke swears the scent of Leia’s vanilla perfume was in the row behind him. For The Birds, Luke thought he heard Dad’s precious motorcycle rev its squeaky-clean engine. And when Cary Grant was chased by a crop-dusting plane in North by Northwest, Luke thought his Mom’s disappointed face swam in the clear blue skies above the perilous scene.

While movie nights are untouchable even when Luke is punished, it didn’t make his life any less stressful. He could hardly get on the phone with Ahsoka or text Ezra for homework help; Mom insisted he keep his bedroom door partially open so they could eavesdrop further on what little private life he had outside of infamy.

Luke walks to the convenience store counter, receiving the swipe of Satine’s hand over his helmet hair. He chuckles lightly.

“Are they suffocating you over there, dear?” Satine asks, assessing his mental state with her calculating blue eyes.

Luke exhales deeply through his nose. It is all he can muster.

Satine’s mouth grows lopsided as her tone grows stern. “I’ll need to scold Padmé the next time she invites me to one of her charity events. How does that sound?”

Luke’s mouth quirks upwards on one side at the thought. The image of Satine griping at Mom in front of her glittering crowds brings Luke far too much catharsis.

Satine smirks. “Ahsoka is in the back with Obi. They might need help unloading supplies.”

Luke bobs his head, grateful for the distracting task. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He ducks his head and walks towards the back door. He twists hard on the handle and pulls out the weighted door. He finds the doorstop and wedges it into place with a timed kick from his laceless high-top Nikes. Even though Luke did not expect to get a workout today, he is happy he chose a less-flashy outfit: a blue polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He looks like a regular teenage boy when he is anything but; he finds the juxtaposition hilarious, sometimes.

The door in place, Luke steps out into the balmy weather. Humidity tickles his bare arm hairs as he locates Obi-Wan and Ahsoka transferring boxes from a semi. The driver sips a Pepsi from his air-conditioned front seat while Obi-Wan sweats it out, swiping beads from his fringed forehead. Moisture gathers in his ginger beard as the truck’s shadow covers half of his pale face. Ahsoka, meanwhile, climbs around inside the truck itself. Her boots clang with every movement as she pushes boxes towards the open end of the supply compartment. 

Luke rounds the semi and stands beside Obi-Wan. The bearded man sighs in relief. “I’ve never been happier to see you in my life, Luke.”

At least he is wanted somewhere. He smiles brightly. 

Wordlessly, Luke removes boxes from their perch at the edge of the truck. He walks them over to the gathering pile on the concrete inlet. The heavy metal door remains open as Satine arrives to bring the boxes inside the storeroom. 

After Luke shoots Ahsoka with a grin, they become a bucket brigade of box carriers. Ahsoka pushes the boxes towards the end of the semi, Luke and Obi-Wan grab them and take them to the concrete, and Satine shelves them inside. A silent task save for grunts at heavier boxes and shallow exhales as the weight shifts from person to person.

Once Satine checks the supplies have all arrived and pays off the driver, Luke and Ahsoka settle by sitting atop the register counter. They criss-cross facing each other as they take sips of bottled water to hydrate.

“Just so you know,” Ahsoka says after a moment, “he’s going to be here in five, four, three…”

The convenience store bell hits against the glass door harshly. Luke’s spine straightens as he blinks at the advancing footsteps and haggard breaths.

When a leather jacket and worried expression comes into view, Luke’s heart stutters.

“Luke,” Ezra breathes, his wide eyes growing concerned and softening with each step towards the counter, “I’ve been trying to talk to you in person for days. What’s going on?”

Ezra’s entire body collapses with the weight of his worry. He stands right beside Luke, peering down at his elevated sitting position. His gaze darts across Luke’s face as if expecting cuts and bruises to hide between his freckles. 

“Uh,” Luke slouches, catching sight of a particularly devious smirk from Ahsoka before frowning up at Ezra, “sorry. I, uh, am kinda grounded?”

“Grounded,” Ezra parses out with a blink, “but this isn’t grounded.”

“Well,” Luke sighs as he launches into a well-worn explanation, “since the Skywalker name carries with it certain stipulations of, you know,” he snaps his fingers to find the words, “having to show my face and be on social media and all that, I can’t be grounded in the traditional sense.”

“Uhhh,” a blush blooms across Ezra’s copper cheeks, “huh. Well.” He clams up, looking down at his boots. His voice comes out a quiet squeak. “Now I feel stupid.”

“No,” Luke ignores the warmth in his own chest, “it’s not stupid in the slightest. I’m sorry for worrying you so much that you had to,” he rambles, “probably go out of your way just to ride down here and deal with me, so. I’m sorry.”

Ezra shifts on his feet. His gaze lifts up to Luke and he clears his throat. “How long are you grounded for, delinquent?”

Luke laughs, the awkwardness fading at the tease. “The drama should be over by Halloween, but I’ll probably have to make appearances at a costume party.”

“A stipulation,” Ezra chirps.

“Right,” Luke replies amusedly.

Fingers snap. Luke blinks; he forgot Ahsoka was sitting next to him on the counter. Sheepishly, he meets her expression, which betrays nothing of her thoughts.

A lilt filters in from behind Luke. “Oh,” a box is set down between Luke and Ahsoka on the counter, “you must be that Bridger boy.”

Luke freezes up. He locks eyes with Ahsoka, who wears his same expression, a combination of fear and mortification. 

Obi-Wan’s beard flashes to the side of Luke’s vision as he says, “my daughter has mentioned your disruptive hijinks several times, but you know what I see?”

“S-Sir?” Ezra stammers and winces as if anticipating a rebuke.

Obi-Wan’s voice collapses into a sigh. “I see a loiterer who needs some good friends.”

Ezra is visibly relieved.

“Welcome to the Breakfast Club,” Obi-Wan says smoothly, “or should I say the After School Club?”

Ahsoka groans and rolls her eyes. “That was so lame, Obi!”

Obi-Wan chuckles, his eyes glimmering. “One hour on the clock, alright?”

Luke deflates a little. “Alright, Obi. Thank you.”

Obi-Wan returns to the storeroom where Satine packs away items. There is a beat of silence as they all look at each other. 

Ezra flounders and asks Ahsoka, “so, uh, that’s your Dad?”

Ahsoka laughs. “My adoptive Dad. I’m his charity case.” She bats her lashes at Ezra.

Luke snickers to show Ezra that Ahsoka is joking about the last part.

“Oh,” Ezra says dumbly, “okay.”

The way he blushes and ducks his head has Luke wondering how Ezra got the reputation of being a bad boy. If anything, he is a harmless prankster alongside Han and Chewie.

“Well,” Ahsoka sighs between Luke and Ezra, “since Barriss isn’t here to kiss, do you wanna play Hot or Not?”

“What’s,” Ezra asks in puzzlement, looking down at Luke, “Hot or Not?”

Why does Ezra always seem to direct his attention to Luke? It makes it difficult to concentrate.

“Uh,” Luke chuckles nervously, “just a dumb game where we rate celebrities.”

“Oh,” Ezra pinches his thick brows together, “isn’t that kinda, like, hypocritical?”

Luke shrugs. “It’s the only fun part about knowing celebrity dirt.”

“Ooh,” Ezra crouches down and uses his arms as leverage to prop his chin against the counter, “in that case,” his wide eyes dart between them, “tell me all the hot goss.”

Luke and Ahsoka emit wind chime laughs. Luke obliges as Ahsoka begins the game.

/

Hiding his phone in his locker, leaning against the space where his books and mirror rest, Luke scrolls through the camera roll of his Halloween costume pictures. The expensive costume has been arriving in pieces for days, and Luke could finally see the whole picture of each item laid out on his bedspread.

The costume is tacky and a Halloween staple, but Luke can pull it off. Besides, it was Leia who had the idea to match this year, so he didn’t really have a valid say anyway.

It could be worse, though. Like the time they were babies and Mom dressed them up as gourds. Not pumpkins. Gourds with veiny and speckly and warty accoutrements.

“Hey,” a smooth voice has Luke’s head snap to the side, gripping his phone and clicking it off as Zare leans against the locker beside him, “looking at nudes?”

Luke is so used to this that he doesn’t even react anymore. He sets his phone screen-down against his physics textbook and faces him. “No.”

“No,” Zare’s grin unnerves him, “you’re way too good and pure for that.” 

Luke refrains from scowling as Zare’s smile widens at the tasteless compliment. 

“It’s a good thing I’m,” Zare holds up a hand as if miming to touch Luke’s cheek, “very into that.” 

Luke prides himself on not cringing. 

“So, Ken doll,” Zare drawls, his brown eyes piercing through Luke as his arm falls to the side, “would you like to be my honored date to Lux’s Halloween party?”

Luke is not given the chance to answer.

“Come on, Zare,” Ezra’s voice followed by his presence between them has Luke stiffening, “you’re better than this. No means no.”

Luke uses his peripherals to glimpse Ezra; the relaxed boy had become menacing with the flip of a switch. His leather jacket blends into his harsh gaze as he crosses his arms. Ezra’s head tips towards Zare, his mouth pressed in a thin unimpressed line. Luke gulps at how Ezra does not look at him.

Zare rolls his eyes at Ezra. “What do you know about our relationship, Greaser?”

Luke realizes that the hallway is quiet. The entire world stops for the display. There are low “ooh’s” verbalized due to the diss. Luke is being watched by so many eyes that he curls against his locker and holds himself.

Ezra bats his lashes, undeterred by his audience and Zare. “Is that all you got?” He sighs. “I think everyone can agree that your disrespectful routine is getting rather old.” Ezra feigns a yawn. “I’m tired of the bullshit, dude.”

The weight of cameras recording has Luke’s heart racing. He clenches his jaw as he is rooted to this scene. There are more “ooh’s” in anticipation of a fight.

Luke has seen Ezra get in fights before, though it was usually because Han started something. Luke stayed out of it.

Until now.

Ezra nudges his head to the side, prompting Zare with “get out of here and leave him alone. I’m pretty sure he isn’t interested.”

Luke’s cheeks heat up; he wants to bark that Ezra doesn’t have the right to speak for him, but Ezra’s own uncertainty at his statement piques Luke’s interest.

“Oh yeah?” Zare snorts. “And how would you know Luke isn’t interested? Are you his little boyfriend or something?”

Luke’s heart quickens. Ezra narrows his eyes. Luke would give anything to know what’s churning in Ezra’s head at this moment.

Ezra’s voice is curt and harsh. “No, I simply have a pair of eyes.”

“Oh damn,” Jai mutters noticeably from the sidelines.

“You’re making him uncomfortable,” Ezra emphasizes to Zare, “why don’t you get out of your own head, look at his face, and read the signs for once?”

Zare’s gaze darts away from Ezra’s expression, which is colder than a bitter October chill. His brown eyes settle on Luke, who ducks his head downwards out of instinct.

It is exactly what Ezra hopes for, Luke can tell.

Zare does not sound pleased as he mutters, “fine, Bridger. I’ll back down,” he pauses before deciding airily, “for now.”

When Luke registers Zare had left, he finally lifts up his eyes. The ambient sound of retreating figures indicates that the crowd dispersed and carried on with passing period. 

Luke swallows an anxious lump in his throat once he recognizes Ezra disappeared without an explanation after the confrontation. It grates on Luke’s nerves in all the worst ways as he turns towards the darkened locker interior. He plucks out his smartphone, tucks it in his rust-colored windbreaker, and closes the locker door with a resounding huff.

/

-I’m sorry-

-I shouldn’t have done that-

-I know it’s the last thing you wanted-

-I just-

-I couldn’t take it anymore-

-Seeing you so upset and uncomfortable-

-It just makes me-

-I don’t know-

-I’m sorry-

-I’ll never do anything like that again-

-If you don’t want to be friends anymore-

-I would understand-

Luke is forced to unlock his phone screen and open the messenger app at the last text. He sighs, checks that no one is eavesdropping near his ajar bedroom door, and starts a call.

Ezra picks up on the first ring, emitting a hopeful, “Luke!”

“Let’s not get dramatic,” Luke says in a purposefully-quiet tone, “that’s my trademark, not yours.”

Ezra exhales a soft laugh. “Sorry. Are you, um, okay to be talking right now?”

Luke keeps his eyes on the crack in the door, searching for a hint of movement or a shadow. “Not really, but your worrisome thought process warranted a call.”

“My worrisome thought process warranted a call,” Ezra snickers, “oh wow, you’re really cracking, aren’t you?”

“Could be worse,” Luke admits.

“Yeah, well,” Ezra says breezily, “why don’t you get to the part where you lay into me about today? Since you’re short on time and all?”

Luke hides his smile in the blue light of his phone; he’s glad he didn’t FaceTime. “Yes, what you did was out of line,” he iterates, “I want to make that very clear. I can take care of myself, alright? I’m used to creeps.”

“Too bad your stink eye won’t work on everyone, huh?” Ezra contemplates.

“Yeah,” Luke sighs, “but while I don’t like the way everything went down,” he chooses his words carefully, “I’m grateful someone finally said something to him.” He winces as he adds, “and that the person who did was you.”

“Could have been worse, right?” Ezra echoes. “I just,” there is a beat, “I’m still sorry. I should have consulted with you instead of acting on a whim like that. It tends to get me in trouble, and I really should know better by now. So, uh,” he chuckles, “I can’t stop apologizing, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Luke murmurs, “I’ll consider this strike one.” He deepens his voice as he says ominously, “for now.”

Ezra cackles. “What did that even mean, by the way? Was he trying to be, like, scary?”

“I have the suspicion that Zare doesn’t have a plan,” Luke says amusedly.

“I’m sure he’ll figure it out,” Ezra says wryly, “once he’s finished lint rolling his varsity jacket.”

As Luke laughs, at ease despite the cautious circumstances just outside his door, he realizes he could talk to Ezra all night without getting bored.

But he would have to settle for a couple minutes.


	6. It’s time the fat cats had a heart attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure about this, man?” Han asks, his blue eyes full of something Ezra has never seen in him before: fear.
> 
> Ezra stares up at Han with determination, lashes dusting the slits of his mask. “I don’t care about the consequences.”
> 
> Han gulps. “Don’t lose your head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rise up and take the power back,  
> It’s time the fat cats had a heart attack.  
> You know that their time is coming to an end,  
> We have to unify and watch our flag ascend.
> 
> -Muse, “Uprising”

Lux Bonteri’s annual Halloween bash transforms his family’s eerie estate into a strobe-light monstrosity, a monument to upper class millennials in this god-awful town, an upholder of an institution that takes stock in money over matter, in stature over kindness.

Or at least that’s what Sabine always said when she shouted through a megaphone at her well-organized town hall protest demonstrations.

The party bursts out of the seams of the household boundaries. Students play dice with keggers in the front lot, drunk freshmen climb the roof from the second story windows, and the backyard pool is the source of every major make out session.

Ketsu shoves a bottle of laxatives into Ezra’s palm. The ridged cap digs into his life lines.

Zeb growls off to the side of the empty street, his furry blue Sully costume causing him to stick out like a sore thumb, “I want to remind you that my jock friends are at this party, and if they find out we’re a part of this, not even my fists can save you.”

Chewie sends Zeb a look in his teddy bear costume. He signs in ASL, ‘I’ll take care of it.’

“Duly noted,” Sabine says, spitting out half-chewed gum on the pavement. 

Her blonde pixie cut shines in contrast to her leathers, white tee, and red fringed gloves. Drum sticks are stuffed in the back of her studded belt to complete her costume: Watts from Some Kind of Wonderful.

Sabine’s silver earrings glint as she regards the group. “One of our own is in there,” she projects, “but our objective remains the same.”

Ezra worries his lip. He never expected to be on the other side of a high-stakes conflict. He would have to be sneaky if he had any hope of completing his own objective.

Han’s gaze darts from Ezra to Sabine. They share the same thought. Ezra’s heart skips because his best friend knows him better than he planned. If Han ruined this for him, Ezra wouldn’t know what to do or what would happen in the aftermath.

Han adjusts his flimsy pirate’s hat and smooths over his expression. “Just wondering, but uh,” he garners Sabine’s sour face, “why can’t we do graffiti or trash the place like always?”

Before Sabine can enter her usual tirade, a skeptical Sheriff Kallus says, “they won’t be able to ignore us like they usually do.”

“What about Zare?” Ketsu asks absently as she straps on roller skates. Her rainbow tie dye disco outfit is meant to be a distraction. She is careful to keep her attention fixated on the neon orange roller skates as she ties them from her sidewalk perch. “Should I not aim for him or something?” 

Sabine frowns at her girlfriend and settles on Ezra. “You’ve been quiet. Tell us: what should we do about Zare?”

Ezra never liked Zare, even before his life went to shit. Ezra couldn’t blame Zare for his circumstances, but the fact that Ezra could relate and didn’t act like a douchebag gave Zare no excuse in his mind.

Ezra looks down at his dress shoes and dark form-fitting clothes. The golden-trimmed white mask around his eyes conceal the majority of his emotions, but he has to nitpick words so he does not arouse suspicion. His fingers catch on the ridges of the laxative bottle cap as he hides the evidence in a pocket.

“I think,” Ezra replies, “if he wants to pretend to be someone he’s not, we should let him without compromising our integrity.”

“Compromising our integrity,” Zeb rolls his eyes, “what are you, a smart guy now?”

“He goes to the library,” Kallus chides his boyfriend, “and he’s getting better grades than all of us.”

Ezra snaps his mouth shut while his answer is contemplated by the group.

“Fine,” Sabine clips, “agreed. Now split up.”

/

Ezra slips through the crowd inside the living room, where furniture is cleared away for a disco dance floor. Based on the way He danced in that homecoming video on Instagram, there is a fairly high chance He would be here.

Ezra cuts past a clogged artery where the dancing crowd is at its thickest. He catches sight of a bright pink ball gown and tiara: Leia.

He continues towards the opposite side of the dance floor. Where there is Leia, he can’t be far-

A hand clamps down on his wrist. Ezra stiffens and gasps as the hand whirls him around.

Aphra beams with an eyepatch, red leather jacket, and claw hand. “Argh, matey! What’s goin’ on, dude? You never come to these parties!”

“Sh!” Ezra hisses, placing a gloved finger to his lips. “Stay out of it!”

“No thanks,” Aphra chimes. 

Her brutal strength as she grips his wrist terrifies him as she yanks him out of the crowd. He has no choice but to follow.

Aphra pushes open a service door into a hallway. There is only a bathroom against one wall, and it is quiet, indicating no one is inside. She does not hesitate to drag him into the bathroom, let go of his wrist, and shut the door behind them.

“What’s going on?” She repeats.

“Uh,” Ezra recovers with a blink, “the usual.”

Aphra narrows her eyes. “You’re pulling a prank, aren’t you?” She cackles. “I want in!”

The door is torn open. Lando sweeps into the bathroom wearing a ruffled shirt, cape, and a dummy sword strapped to his trousers: Inigo Montoya.

“I just heard what you’re doing,” Lando says breathlessly, Han sheepish behind him as the door closes again. “Whose idea was it to throw your lives away?”

Ezra unearths the bottle of laxatives. “You know what?” His shoulder-length hair shakes with his head. The elastic band from the mask presses uncomfortably against his ears. He slaps the bottle into Aphra’s palm. “Have at it. I have other priorities.”

He sidesteps past Aphra and Lando. Han, standing against the door, holds onto his shoulder, halting Ezra’s path.

“Are you sure about this, man?” Han asks, his blue eyes full of something Ezra has never seen in him before: fear.

Ezra stares up at Han with determination, lashes dusting the slits of his mask. “I don’t care about the consequences.”

Han gulps. “Don’t lose your head.”

He backs up against the bathroom door, twisting it open. Ezra slips through the opening, shoes echoing in the empty hallway. Music soon filters into the space as he advances towards the dance floor.

Ezra lines the edges of the scene and scans the contents of the room. Leia, Winter, and Mara are blissfully drunk and dancing near the DJ. Zare is dressed as James Bond trying to flirt with all of them at the same time, but they are undeterred by his usual antics.

A rainbow flash on roller skates indicates Ketsu is somewhere at work by the food table. He tenses, but when he notes her back is turned, he blends into the throng of students. 

Ezra eyes Lando’s reappearance in the eastward archway flirting with Hobbie, who just so happens to be in a Westley costume from Princess Bride. A part of Ezra sighs in relief that Hobbie has a new fixation other than-

There He is.

Ezra sucks in a breath on instinct. The disco light shines down on the one he searches for, highlights freshly-groomed golden hair, the bronze clasps of a white soldier’s uniform, platform boots spray painted crystal to give the air of glass slippers.

Ezra should have known he would dress as Prince Charming; what else would Luke be?

A wave of nervousness swoops over him. His mouth dries at the thought of a laxative passing through that grin.

He roils and advances, tiptoeing past rowdy students on the way across the dance floor. As the distance closes, a witch cloak blinds his vision. He stops.

Barriss’s warm eyes fixate on him, piercing right through the mask. A brow arches upwards in confusion. “Ezra?”

He sighs in relief that the intrusion is not a detrimental one. “Barriss,” Ezra raises a finger to his lips, “I need to get to L-”

“Ezra?” Ahsoka appears so quickly by her girlfriend’s side that Ezra receives whiplash. Ahsoka’s turquoise wrap leaves her stomach exposed, bronze rings decorating her person from ankles to dreadlocks: a belly dancer. “What are you doing here? Luke said that you wouldn’t-”

“My friends are about to pull a really bad prank,” Ezra cuts off, the music drowning out his voice to anyone else nearby, “and I need to warn Luke right now, okay?!”

Ahsoka and Barriss share a look.

Ahsoka is not pleased as she says, “he was talking with Lux behind us.”

As Ezra motions himself forward, Barriss clamps down hard on his shoulder. He jerks back in surprise, blinking at the two teenage girls. Their harsh eyes swim amongst the disco lights.

“Did you know?” Barriss clips.

Ezra shakes his head, panicking despite his honesty. Upon reading his expression beneath the mask, Barriss releases him.

“Fine,” Ahsoka nudges her head behind her shoulder, “go.”

Ezra does not second guess her decision; he swirls around the dance floor and glimpses Luke near the food table. His heart pounds as he swerves past obstacles, disco lights flashing and blinding him. 

A crowd parts, and he finally finds a stagnant Luke glancing up in awe at the disco ball. The light glitters across his pearly white uniform, blue brass buttons, and glass-esque boots. His head is tipped towards the spinning crystal, and his smile is soft and carefree.

Breathtaking.

Ezra rockets forward, breaking the moment. He reaches him, whispers his name: “Luke.”

He knows it is him. Luke’s gaze darts hesitantly across Ezra’s masquerade costume, settling on his eyes.

“Ezra?” Luke worries his lip, reading everything Ezra has to say and more. “There’s a prank,” his voice catches on a note of sadness, “isn’t there?”

“This wasn’t me,” Ezra says softly, a delicate whisper, a promise laced into his words. “They’re putting laxatives in the food. We have to get out of here.”

Luke’s eyes glaze over. His head tilts in the general direction of his sister. Ezra’s heart thuds.

Luke must make a quick decision, because he says to Ezra, “I’m not leaving Leia to suffer alone.”

Ezra hangs his head low. He swallows thickly, mind reeling at what he could possibly do to-

“Can I ask you something?” Luke says warily.

Ezra blinks up at Luke. “Uh...sure?”

“If you didn’t know me,” Luke steps towards Ezra, his crystal boots glinting, “like you do now,” his blue eyes shine, “would you be an active part of this prank?”

Ezra answers earnestly, “this is too far. I would never. And that’s why they didn’t tell me about it until an hour ago.”

Luke purses his lips. He hesitates, then steps into Ezra’s personal space. Ezra holds his breath as he catches the scent of lavender perfume. 

Luke’s long blonde lashes tickle his freckles as he murmurs to Ezra, “I believe you.” His eyes glisten. “I don’t know why, but I,” his lungs collapse with a breath, “but I do. I believe you.”

Startling Ezra, Luke backpedals a pace. The closeness suddenly snatched away jars Ezra. His head snaps to study Luke’s somber expression.

“But after this,” Luke glances worriedly over at Leia, who is still unaware of what would happen, before solidifying towards Ezra, “we need to talk.”

Ezra hates the dread that pours into his mouth and spills throughout his intestines at the words, poisoning his stomach acid and settling into a disgusting sludge that he wants to vomit up but can’t.

Ezra swallows a lump in his throat and bobs his head once. Luke turns on his platform heel and disappears into the teeming crowd beside them, searching for Leia amongst the disco lights and drunk partygoers.

His mind blurs, and he stomps away from the dance floor.

/

Ezra sits on his motorcycle outside of Lux’s mansion, the gold-white mask removed and dangling from the handlebar. Crickets chirp in the dead of night. Halloween would become November in a matter of minutes, and the waiting would be over. In the meantime, he scrolls through Instagram Stories of rich kids puking and other students making fun of those who ‘couldn’t hold their liquor.’

Once dozens of students started vomiting, though, they suspected foul play. Videos included garbled shouts of ‘it’s the food’ followed by a backup in the bathrooms.

Just browsing the videos and knowing that Ezra was unwillingly a part of this display makes him sick, and he hadn’t eaten in hours. He is hollow and guilty; he hadn’t done anything to aid in the prank, but all he thinks about is Luke’s face swimming in Stories as he carries his drunk sister away from the masses.

Luke was too good for any of them, especially Ezra.

Ezra tries to comfort himself by perusing the movie vlogs they started together, the theater nights empty if it weren’t for Luke’s laugh. But the tactic doesn’t work; it only makes him feel worse.

Footsteps approaching put Ezra on alert. He clicks off his phone and shoves it in a concealed pocket. He sniffles and his head whirls to the side.

Han sighs and places a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. His crossbones black felt hat is tipped backwards, revealing sweaty fringe. His pirate costume is beyond rumpled; not even a thorough wash could revive it. Han’s frown mirrors Ezra’s.

“This is,” Han shakes his head, “yeah, I don’t like this idea anymore.”

Ezra says nothing. It surprises him that Han agreed to it, but his morals have always been shaky. Caring for a sick mother and grandmother does something to a person, and Ezra isn’t in the place to judge him.

Han hesitates before asking lightly, “were you able to get Luke out of there?”

Ezra exhales through his wide nose, observing the candy-coated sheen to his motorcycle handlebars. “He wanted to stay.”

Han hums. “To help them or-”

“Leia,” Ezra revises.

“Oh,” Han bobs his head, “makes sense.” A camouflaged cricket grates its legs together. “I want to meet him.”

Ezra purses his lips and looks over at Han. It is his instinct to go on the defensive, but his shoulders deflate. He is tired. So tired.

“I’m no expert on the rich and fancy,” Han says, “but Luke doesn’t act like the rest of them. That I can tell. He seems…”

“Real?” Ezra finishes bitterly, guilt churning in the form of stomach bile.

“Yeah,” Han confirms, “real.”

“That’s because he is,” Ezra sighs, removing his costume mask from the handlebar. His fingers play with the strings before he settles his second identity on his thigh. “You know if I had any wind that this was coming-”

“I know,” Han says gravely, “you would have stopped it at any cost. All for him, right?”

A lump forms in Ezra’s throat. It remains an obstruction as emotion threatens to spill out of him.

In the silence that could burst at any second, Ezra confesses, “I’ve never felt more terrified in my life.”

Han’s voice grows louder in the dull air. “Ma and Grandma call that love.”

That. That right there. That word. It makes Ezra sick. Scared. Stupid. 

Sick, scared, and stupid.

“It’s why I want to meet him,” Han steps back onto the sidewalk as a commotion arrives to meet him, “just think about it.”

Ezra is assaulted on all sides by sound. Sabine exclaims, “Han, start the Falcon!” Han runs to his beloved van with Chewie to get the engine going. Sabine and Zeb take their matching motorcycles while Ezra starts his ignition. Ketsu wraps her arms around Sabine’s waist while she preps her getaway. Kallus yells at Han and Chewie in the van.

Ezra revs his engine to drown out the noise. He eases on the gas pedal, pulling out into the empty street. His headlights guide the group away from the crime scene.

The mask flies from his thigh and is lost to the air. Ezra does not miss it at all.


	7. Something gave you the nerve to touch my hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I realized over the past couple weeks,” Luke murmurs, “that nobody at school knows much about you. I thought,” he hesitates, “I thought we were friends and you could trust me, but I don’t know. I don’t know.”
> 
> Ezra makes a snap decision. His head jerks to the side, to the asphalt where Luke waits, where his mouth closes in shock at Ezra’s fast movement.
> 
> Ezra shifts on his motorcycle, sitting up straighter to allow for room on the seat. He runs a hand through his tightly-bound bun, matting down baby hairs that break free from the slight breeze, easing out his shaking nerves. 
> 
> He says to Luke curtly, “get on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light pink sky up on the roof.  
> Sun sinks down, no curfew.  
> Twenty questions, we tell the truth,  
> You’ve been stressed out lately? Yeah, me too.  
> Something gave you the nerve,  
> To touch my hand.  
> It’s nice to have a friend.
> 
> -Taylor Swift, “It’s Nice to Have a Friend”

Ezra waits on his motorcycle in front of the Gucci designer store. It is risky to be on this side of town, but the presence of Luke’s Harley Davidson across the pedestrian-friendly street urges him to stay. The Barbie car parallel parked next to it is worrisome, an obstacle to overcome, but Ezra has faith.

And besides, he had already come too far out of his way to give up.

Three fashionably-dressed teenage girls exit the store with pastel bags. They chortle without a care as they pass by the usual customers, who roll their eyes. Leia is in the middle wearing a salmon wrap dress, heels clacking companionably alongside Winter and Mara, who wear white and red respectively.

Once they clear out, not registering Ezra as they find a crosswalk, Luke stumbles out of the store with more bags. He is disgruntled and frazzled as he catches up with his sister and her friends. 

Luke manages to reach them and throw their bags in the back of Leia’s eyesore of a convertible. He leaves them in a huff. The twins gripe about something that Ezra does not hear over the sound of Leia starting her car. She waves and winks at Luke as she careens out of the area with Winter and Mara in the backseat.

When the roar of Leia’s engine leaves Luke in the dust, he hangs his head low. He walks to his Harley, catches the flashy graffiti on Ezra’s motorcycle, and halts in the middle of the path. He stares for a moment, blinking in disbelief, and promptly jaywalks to Ezra’s side of the street.

Ezra’s heart thumps in anticipation. Luke wears a worn pair of bedazzled combat boots with an inch heel, plaid leggings, an artfully-ripped tee, and a jacket with a popped-up collar. Gel combs Luke’s hair to one side, highlighting the brown tones near the blonde.

Luke halts beside Ezra’s motorcycle perch with a conflicted expression. Ezra remembers their conversation at Lux’s Halloween party, and his hopes sink.

“Before Halloween,” Luke says, his gaze shadowed by the sun roof of Raising Cane’s, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Ezra frowns, but nods for him to continue.

“You listen to me complain about my parents,” Luke shifts on his feet, “but why don’t you talk about you?”

Ezra blinks towards the handlebar. His lungs collapse in a forced breath. He has to remain calm.

“I realized over the past couple weeks,” Luke murmurs, “that nobody at school knows much about you. I thought,” he hesitates, “I thought we were friends and you could trust me, but I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Ezra makes a snap decision. His head jerks to the side, to the asphalt where Luke waits, where his mouth closes in shock at Ezra’s fast movement.

Ezra shifts on his motorcycle, sitting up straighter to allow for room on the seat. He runs a hand through his tightly-bound bun, matting down baby hairs that break free from the slight breeze, easing out his shaking nerves. 

He says to Luke curtly, “get on.”

Luke swallows thickly, expressing his shock at the bold order. “What?” He asks, confused and breathless.

“Get on and come for a drive with me,” Ezra says, squinting to give off an air of confidence, “and I’ll tell you everything.”

Luke bites his lip. He weighs his options. His lashes dust his cheekbones in the afternoon light while he contemplates.

He steps forward. His expression is shadowed by the motorcycle and Ezra’s limited vision. He mutters, “I guess I really am crazy, huh?”

Luke casts one leg over the opposite side of the motorcycle. Ezra struggles not to gulp as Luke’s front rests an inch away from his back.

He should think things through before he puts himself in these compromising positions.

Luke grips the sides of the seat instead of touching Ezra. Still, he registers a puff of air tickle the exposed junction between his neck and shoulder. Ezra’s hairs prickle upwards as Luke breathes, “do you seriously drive everywhere without a helmet?”

Ezra huffs out a laugh. “I have a helmet, but I just don’t use it. Hang on.”

Carefully, Ezra leans over on one side, hand feeling for the bucket-shaped helmet he kept strapped between the headlights. He unlatches it messily from its tangled grip. 

He pinches the helmet by the chin strap and retrieves it, holding out the nondescript black bucket to the side. “Here. Sorry it’s not fashionable.”

“I can make anything fashionable,” Luke quips. His hands fumble for a moment, Ezra listening for the clicks.

“Okay?” Ezra asks.

“Safety,” Luke emphasizes, “is always okay.”

Ezra conceals an embarrassing smile by facing front and turning the key in the ignition. Luke grips the sides of the seat again. 

“Ready?” Ezra asks over the hum of the engine.

Luke bobs his head in affirmation.

Ezra is careful when he peels away from the parallel parking spots. He enters the two-way street between rows of stores. He focuses on the road, on the stoplights, on the turns. If he didn’t keep his mind affixed firmly ahead, it would wander to how insane he must be to show Luke everything behind their backs.

When they reach the poorer side of town, Luke’s body deflates behind Ezra. He’s starting to get it.  
Or so he thinks.

They reach the southern outskirts of the town after twenty minutes of driving without a stop sign. The streets crack. The sidewalks tinge with grime and gum. The houses groan at their ancient history.

Ezra peels into the government housing section. The apartment buildings are rowdy, teeming with the tired as they hang clothes between balconies. Children play in a communal basketball court with a deflated ball. Loiterers smoke by a convenience store with missing letters on the front sign.

He rounds a corner, revealing a long driveway in the adjacent road. The gate fell off the hinges years ago, leaving rusted metal poles casting away the artificial trees. Ezra drives to the limits of the invisible gate, braking as Luke drinks in the unkempt property before them.

Ezra cuts the engine abruptly. Luke peers over his shoulder, his breath catching on the sign in front of the wooden ancestral house:

‘Syndulla Family Foster Care.’

As the information absorbs, Ezra studies the rolls of toilet paper cast around the balcony, roof, and support poles. It would take a while to get it all down, but they knew the retaliation for the Halloween party would come.

“Who the hell,” Luke sounds emotional, reedy, wrecked, “would teepee a foster home?”

Ezra’s mouth clamps shut. Out of all the things he expected Luke to utter upon being taken here, that was the last question he could have ever anticipated. He is in awe.

Shifting on the seat, he casts one leg alongside the other. Once he is leaning against the side of the motorcycle, kicking down the stand so they remain upright, he does a careful spin in the limited space. He casts the opposite leg around the motorcycle to make a one-eighty. Luke does not move a muscle as Ezra faces him, a bare inch of air between them.

When Ezra studies Luke’s face, several surprises await him. The first: glistening eyes, switching between the pranked property and Ezra’s face. The second: anger, in the way his jawline clenches beneath a carefully-controlled mask, in the thin press of his lips into a disturbed line. The third: guilt in his shoulders, his intense body language, as if whatever happened is somehow his fault. The fourth: shallow breaths, expressing disbelief that this is Ezra’s life and rich kids are more than just an immature fight at the playground. And fifth: determination, how his mixed emotions grate together amongst dewy eyes, concluding that this has to stop and he’s going to help in any way he possibly can, because he was good and sweet and the world didn’t deserve his kindness.

Ezra recalls the query, his blurry vision and wild thoughts grinding to a halt as Luke fixates on him, all of his gentle yet weighty attention focused on him, on Ezra, oh no, oh god, he swears, he vows, oh n-

“You know who,” Ezra exhales, kicking himself for the shaky quality to his tone. 

The doesn’t want Luke to worry, but oh, he is worrying, Luke’s eyes widen in the clearest sign of worry Ezra has ever seen, and oh no-

Luke leans back an inkling on the seat, sensing something in Ezra change. Ezra swallows a lump in his throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ezra mutters, trying to regain a sense of control at the downturn of his head, “that’s not what matters.”

Luke’s hand encroaches into the inch of space between them. The fingers touch the leather seat, settling like a spider. Each finger taps the seat, one by one. Ezra watches the hypnotic movement for a moment, something inside him snapping and simmering and soothing into a wave of calm.

Luke flips over his hand, holding out his palm. Ezra does not realize his own hand rests near it, closed into a fist. He releases the tension, his knuckles aching as his outstretched fingers brush Luke’s lightly.

That’s when Ezra does something really stupid: he inches his hand closer, until his palm encompasses Luke’s. Their fingers do not curl together, just rest atop each other, but the intimacy causes Ezra to burn inside nonetheless.

Slowly, he lifts his eyes up to Luke’s. He finds nothing there but comfort; Luke sees no problem with this, but if it happens again, Ezra might die of embarrassment for taking advantage of-

“Tell your thoughts to fuck off,” Luke murmurs.

Ezra’s breath catches; a swear word coming from Luke’s airy cadence renders him giddy and delighted. What a guy.

He clears his throat and bats his lashes. His intrusive thoughts halt. He smiles crookedly.

“I, uh,” Ezra squeaks, “shouldn’t I be the one on trial here? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being,” he sighs, “I’m sorry.”

Luke smiles back, applying pressure to their flat palms. “If you think I’d judge you because of where you live, you clearly don’t know me well enough yet.”

“I do,” Ezra says instantly, “I knew you wouldn’t. Of course I knew that. I just, uh…”

“Haven’t done this before?” Luke finishes.

“Right,” Ezra chuckles to ease the tension, “but you’re my friend. You should know-”

“You don’t have to force yourself to tell me,” Luke’s brows furrow beneath the lip of Ezra’s helmet, “not if I pushed too hard and you don’t feel ready to talk about it.”

“No, I,” Ezra nods once, “that’s not the issue. I have no problem telling you,” he looks into Luke’s eyes without blinking, “that my family died in a car accident when I was seven and I’ve been an orphan here ever since. That was a decade ago. I have no problem saying that to you.”

Luke doesn’t even flinch. He simply asks, “then what’s the problem, Ezra?”

If Luke followed him this far, Ezra figures he could confess:

“While I’m grateful to have a good home, the people inside of it are,” he sighs, “they get me into shit that I don’t want to be a part of, and for me, the last straw was that goddamn Halloween party.”

Ezra’s gaze darts across Luke’s face, willing him to understand, to meet him halfway. 

But Luke just asks, “who else is inside that house, Ezra?”

Ezra feels like a traitor already. He feels like a traitor, because they kept their private lives under lock and key for a reason, and Ezra was going to breach their trust. And for what? A friend? A cru-

No. Don’t think about the word.

He must be completely out of his mind, because he doesn’t hesitate as he lists the names:

“Sabine, Zeb, Ketsu, Kallus, Chewie, and Zare.”

Luke’s lips part as he breathes, “Zare?”

The apprehension and pity in his tone has Ezra murmuring, “don’t you dare feel bad for him.”

Luke’s lashes flutter in surprise.

“No one has the right to treat someone else the way he’s treated you,” Ezra says vehemently. “He shouldn’t dump his shit on everyone,” Ezra hates his own passion as he emphasizes, “least of all you.”

Luke ducks his head. “I dump my complaints about my family on you. I went on a text rant about going to a,” he barks out a laugh, “dumb gala where I wasn’t allowed to wear my new glittery purple suit. I feel like such an idiot.”

Ezra chuckles at the memory of the essay-length text he received, complete with pictures of the suit and crying emojis.

“Don’t,” Ezra clips, garnering Luke’s full attention again, “don’t feel bad about that. We both have problems. They’re just different problems due to our income tax brackets.”

They laugh, creating a light melody together. Ezra accidentally locks eyes with Luke for a second too long, so they break apart, lowering their heads. There is a short silence.

Luke’s tentative smile burns Ezra’s eyes when they gather the strength to look at one another again. Luke removes his palm from Ezra’s, and he wants to whine at the loss of warmth. No words are exchanged about it.

“So,” Luke says, “you never mentioned Han. Where is he if he isn’t here?”

Ezra’s smile falls on one side. “That depends. Are we still friends?”

“Only if you promise,” Luke responds, “to talk to me as much as I talk to you.”

The prospect is a bit daunting, but Ezra agrees, “okay.”

“Then yes,” Luke says mock-haughtily, “I suppose I’ll take our friendship into full consideration.”

“Take your time. No one’s home, so I can sit in this driveway until sundown if you want.”

“We can be full friends if you tell me where they are.”

“The grocery store,” Ezra chimes, “gotta use food stamps on welfare day.”

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“Sabine said somebody has to watch the house, so I offered.”

“And then you,” Luke cannot hold back a smirk, “immediately bailed to check on me?”

“Heh,” Ezra rubs the back of his neck to prevent a wave of heat from buffeting him, “I guess?”

Luke rolls his eyes in amusement. “Do you have guardians that put up with this?”

“Sort of?” Ezra smiles. “My foster mom, Hera, her family is the one that funds the house and she, uh, can be pretty strict, but she’s mostly concerned for our safety these days. And Kanan, her husband, he’s an orphan too, so he doesn’t push us too much when it comes to school drama. He gets it.”

“They sound cool,” Luke says genuinely. “Now, what about Han?”

Ezra flushes. “I thought I would try to-”

“Distract me?” Luke snickers. “Well, I circled back to it. I didn’t forget. Hah. It didn’t work.”

Ezra would have grinned if he didn’t have to provide a reply. “Han is the sole caregiver for his Ma and Grandma. They’re both sick.”

Luke frowns. “Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah,” Ezra says somberly, “I help him on some days.”

“Really?” Something flashes past Luke’s eyes before settling on lightness. “That’s great.”

“He, uh,” Ezra mumbles, “kinda wants to meet you. Since he’s my best friend and all.”

Luke poses, “is he your Ahsoka? Your true blue friend?”

Ezra beams at the analogy. “Exactly. It’s exactly like that.”

“Okay, then,” Luke perks up, “when?”

“Uh,” Ezra thinks for a moment, “I might go after school to his place next week?”

“Okay,” Luke agrees readily, “sure.” He pats on Ezra’s motorcycle helmet. “Now that we’re done with the kidnapping, can you take me back to my motorcycle before my parents worry?”

“Oh!” Guilt swims in Ezra. “Sorry! I guess I wasn’t using my head-”

Luke laughs brightly at him. Ezra is thrown for a loop, blinking rapidly.

“It’s fine,” Luke amends, “I had some free time, anyway. Now take me to the shops, kidnapper.”

“It’s not kidnapping if you go willingly,” Ezra scoffs, doing a careful one-eighty turn.

Once Ezra is facing the handlebars of his motorcycle, he places the key in the ignition. He listens to the hum of the engine and Luke’s laugh at the joke.

As Ezra rides Luke back to the stores, he refuses to acknowledge the way his heart skips at how right Luke feels beside him.


	8. I sense there’s something in the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke picks up the phone when Ahsoka’s name pops up. “Hey.”
> 
> “Luke,” her voice is thin and labored, “get to the hospital. Barriss was in a car accident.”
> 
> He doesn’t know why it doesn’t register. “What?”
> 
> Ahsoka sniffles. “It’s bad,” she cracks, “just come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sense there’s something in the wind,  
> That feels like tragedy’s at hand.  
> And though I’d like to stand by him,  
> Can’t shake this feeling that I have:  
> The worst is just around the bend.
> 
> -Amy Lee, “Sally’s Song”

Luke huffs at himself in the mirror, frowning at the oversized maroon hoodie and ripped jeans. His face is too pale; not even pinching his cheeks can regain their healthy blush. 

He shouldn’t have been goaded by his sister at the auto sales event last night to down as much champagne as possible. He worries about Leia’s drinking, but they weren’t close like they used to be, so he can’t bring it up without thoroughly assessing the situation.

He sighs at his bleary eyes, the lash curler failing to hide the bags in his lower lids and enhance his lush lashes. None of his usual tricks are working. He debates whether he should dig through Leia’s intensive stash of various powders.

As his mind sways in favor of sneaking into Leia’s bedroom while she’s passed out and procuring her array of baby pink blushes, his smartphone pierces the conjoined bathroom with a ring. It slices through the echoing walls and pearly marble tile, reverberating throughout the private space.

Luke picks up the phone when Ahsoka’s name pops up. “Hey.”

“Luke,” her voice is thin and labored, “get to the hospital. Barriss was in a car accident.”

He doesn’t know why it doesn’t register. “What?”

Ahsoka sniffles. “It’s bad,” she cracks, “just come.”

A lump forms out of nothing in Luke’s throat. The blood sucks out whatever circulation is left in his cheeks. He is hollow. 

His legs come to life with a jerky turn. The mirror doesn’t matter anymore.

“Okay,” Luke walks briskly, regaining his mind with every step as he crosses the bedroom, “do you need me to-”

“I’m in the car with Obi and Satine,” Ahsoka says.

“Okay,” Luke tears open his bedroom door and pads down the hallway in autumn-colored socks, “do you know what-”

“No,” Ahsoka mumbles.

“Right,” Luke beelines for the staircase and descends, “I’m coming right now. I promise I’ll be there to meet you.”

“Okay,” Ahsoka sighs, “see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Luke reaches the bottom of the staircase and ends the call. 

He shoves the smartphone in his jeans pocket and hunts for shoes by the double doors. He grabs a pair of laceless Vans and slips them on while standing up. He brings up his foot and reaches down, securing the back of the shoes to his heel with a rough tug. The shoes clap against the tile and his motorcycle keys jingle when he clasps them by the coat rack. 

“Where are you going?” 

Luke scowls at Leia, who snuck up behind him with a sour face and crossed arms. He is reminded of Leia’s tattletale phase, which is what created the perpetual rift between them years ago.

“Not now,” Luke clips. He clutches the motorcycle keys so tightly the metal ridges dig into his palm. 

He spins past her, pulls hard on the front doors, and strides over the threshold. He descends the porch step and eats up the distance in their massive driveway. He passes three cars before rounding up the concrete, slinging a leg around his Harley Davidson. Luke settles in his seat, jams the key into the ignition, and lets the familiar roar of the engine wash over him. 

He takes a breath, buckles on his helmet, and kicks down the metal stand. As he backs out of the driveway and surpasses the speed limit, he refuses any lingering questions about Barriss to overpower his mind. 

Luke focuses on the road ahead, and soon, he is pulling into the hospital parking lot. He eyes Obi-Wan’s vintage yellow Lincoln Continental near the emergency ambulances and turns into an open spot near the pedestrian crosswalk. Sighing heavily, he parks crooked and shuts down the Harley. 

Ensuring his wallet, keys, and phone are on his person, he leaves the helmet on the handlebar and crosses the street. A figure leans on the convertible, head low and beard shadowing his gaze.

“Obi,” Luke says, meeting up with him in a breathless bound by the car.

Obi-Wan’s head tilts to the side, perking up at his appearance. His eyes, though, are filmy and tired.

“Luke,” he nods once, “come on. They went in a minute ago.”

Luke follows Obi-Wan’s worried strides, the emergency room doors whooshing open at their entrance. As Luke’s eyes adjust to the harsh lighting and nondescript waiting room, he spots Satine and Ahsoka at the desk.

“There,” Luke says weakly.

Obi-Wan follows the cue and dashes to his wife. Luke is a pace behind as a teary-eyed Ahsoka registers his presence. 

Before Luke examines the exhaust lines on his best friend’s face, Ahsoka’s arms are around his waist. Her face burrows into his hoodie. He tucks his chin against the top of her head. She sniffles and wets the maroon cotton, pressing hard against his torso. 

Luke frowns over at the receptionist as Satine’s growl filters in, “-make an exception as we are the closest relation that girl has besides her parents.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” the receptionist says, “we need confirmation from inside first.”

Satine rolls back her shoulders, her tiptoes resting flat again. She leans into Obi-Wan’s arm, which casts around her upper back for comfort. Satine clenches her jaw and glares at the desk surface.

The idea that creeps across Luke’s mind has him grating on his own teeth, but he sees no other option. The receptionist hasn’t addressed the presence of him or Ahsoka.

Holding Ahsoka in his arms, Luke peers out from above her unkempt dreadlocks. He makes eye contact with the middle-aged woman, which gets her to look at him.

Her frown forms into a smile, gaze glinting in recognition. “Wait a minute,” the receptionist sounds delighted as she says, “you’re Luke Skywalker.”

Luke leans into the distinction that usually has him fleeing as far away as possible. He offers the woman a meek smile. He clears his throat and ensures his tone is soft and delicate. “Hello, ma’am. I hate to be a bother,” Ahsoka shifts beneath him, sniffling loudly against his hoodie, “but that’s my friend back there. Whatever’s happened, I’m sure she could use a friendly face.”

The receptionist studies him for a moment, as if searching for falsehoods. Luke wants to hiss at the wasted moment.

She presses a button, the emergency room doors whooshing open. “You may go.”

Luke rubs Ahsoka’s side. Her face pokes out from the confines of his maroon hoodie. She wipes tear tracks and says, “thank you.”

Ahsoka side-steps so that she can stand at her full height. Her skin tone is dark and blotchy, but her eyes are bright. Her fingers lace between the grooves of Luke’s hand. She takes a deep breath to regain composure. 

“You’re welcome, honey,” the woman says gently. “Go ahead.”

Obi-Wan and Satine lead Luke and Ahsoka through the emergency room doors. They cut to the left, narrowly missing a doctor pass with a patient on a gurney. When Luke does not recognize Barriss or her parents as being on it, he hears Ahsoka sigh in relief.

A flimsy curtain is torn open. A nurse exits as someone cries inside the cot. Ahsoka breathes shallowly and advances. “Barriss?”

“‘Soka!” Satine calls as Ahsoka sprints down the hallway and rounds the curtain.

Ahsoka gasps. Luke rushes for her. 

Ahsoka backpedals, hands pressing on her mouth in a prayer stance. Her body wracks with a hysteric hiccup. “Babe…”

Luke’s sneakers squeak against the tile as he stops and turns. Ahsoka backs up against his front, startling Luke as he drinks in her girlfriend’s appearance on the cot.

“Barriss,” Luke exhales.

Bruised eye. Welted cheek. Split lip. It is a scene out of a horror film. Unreal.

Barriss’s dark eyes fixate on them beneath her minimalist hijab; she cannot seem to focus. “Do I really look that bad?” She asks weakly.

Ahsoka shakes her head furiously. She steps away from Luke’s light embrace and enters the makeshift room. “No, honey. I was just shocked.” She drops to a crouch on a side of the cot, Barriss following her movements with glistening eyes. Ahsoka’s head tips up as she murmurs, “no one told us anything about what happened. I got the phone call as your emergency contact and I,” tears rise, but she bats her lashes to disperse them, “what happened, sweetheart?”

Luke remains near the curtain of her cot. Obi-Wan and Satine wait in the hallway behind him. They train an ear to the conversation; an emergency room didn’t have much privacy.

Barriss’s lip wobbles. “A semi came out of nowhere and just,” she looks down at the thick knit blanket covering her body, “it hit Mom and Dad worse. They’re,” her face contorts, “they’re both in a coma. The doctors don’t know when they’ll wake up.”

Ahsoka stands, expression downcast, as her hand rests atop Barriss’s. Her gaze steels as she faces Luke, Obi-Wan, and Satine.

“I’m staying here,” Ahsoka decides.

Luke regards Obi-Wan and Satine. “I’ll stay with her so you can run the store.”

“The store doesn’t matter,” Obi-Wan assures them.

Satine places a hand on his shoulder, garnering his attention. “We should let them handle it. They’re old enough to care for each other. And besides,” she glances over at the teenagers, “I don’t think they want adults hovering around them all day.”

Obi-Wan grumbles to the assembled audience, “all of you better make good choices.”

Luke bobs his head. Ahsoka and Barriss must nod too, because Obi-Wan and Satine leave the emergency room. 

Ahsoka pulls up chairs in Barriss’s makeshift room. Ahsoka holds Barriss’s hand and scoots close. Luke settles in a seat and switches on the muted television. He gives the couple some space while he allows the images of a nature documentary to float past his eyes.

/

Ahsoka frowns, her spork poking at raspberry Jell-O. “If I had known the main food groups at this place were various flavors of gelatin, I would have asked you to get us burgers.”

Barriss had fallen asleep after getting pumped with painkillers in her IV. It is late afternoon, the cafeteria only filled with those who were dedicated to staying the night.

Luke swallows a lump of orange Jell-O. “I don’t see the problem here, ‘Soka. Gelatin isn’t going to make you keel over on the table.”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes at him. “A death joke in a hospital? Really, Skyguy?”

Luke shrugs, a tiny smile perking up a corner of his mouth. “It’s been a rough day.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka sighs, “have you heard from your parents, by the way?”

Luke shakes his head; when he opened up his smartphone earlier, the only messages were from-

“Did you tell Ezra?” Ahsoka wonders. Her fingers flip over the stick end of her spork. “Barriss considers him a friend too. As do I.”

Luke worries his lip as he recounts the reply from Ezra. “He said he’s got something else going on with his, uh,” he fumbles, “his family.”

“Oh.” Ahsoka accepts the excuse.

“He’ll come by in the morning,” Luke says, “if you’re really up for staying the night here.”

“Mhm,” Ahsoka bobs her head, “if Barriss has to stay here, I’m staying here.”

“Then I’ll be here too,” Luke echoes.

Ahsoka pokes her Jell-O, watching the trapezoidal mass shake on the tray. Her spork carves out a chunk. As she chews cautiously and swallows the bite, she asks, “were you drunk last night? I just realized I never asked about that party.”

“Yeah, uh,” Luke frowns, “yeah, I was drunk when you called me. The news sobered me up quickly, though.”

Ahsoka glosses over the behavior; his lapses in judgment were infrequent, anyway. She digs into her raspberry gelatin. “I guess this stuff isn’t so bad, huh?”

“There you go,” Luke continues eating his orange Jell-O, “I’ll make you a fan of gelatinous substances yet.”

“Whatever, weirdo,” Ahsoka says amusedly.

Luke smiles and covers it up with a spork full of Jell-O.

/

A hand shakes Luke’s shoulder. His constant drifting in and out while napping on a plastic chair causes his vision to blur as he opens his eyes. He blinks several times to focus on the person looking down at him. 

When his vision sharpens, Luke straightens from his slumped position on the chair. “Ezra?” He asks sleepily.

Ezra smiles softly. His hair is braided back into a ponytail, held together with daisy clips. He wears a sunshine yellow tee and black sweatpants, dirty tennis shoes squeaking against the tile. 

Luke definitely doesn’t hold his breath at his endearing mood despite the circumstances.

“Hey,” Ezra chimes, “you should probably stretch. Those chairs mess up your spine and stiffen your neck if you stay in them for too long.”

Luke grips the chair arm for leverage, pulling himself into a comfortable position. He is self-conscious as to how messy his hair looks without proper care, how he’s still wearing the same dirty outfit as yesterday and it’s probably wrinkled to kingdom come, how pale and oily and ugly his expression must be after a full day of no self-maintenance. He takes a deep breath and notes how Ezra is not deterred by Luke’s appearance; Ezra looks at him the same way he always does, which is apocalyptic in itself.

“Thanks,” Luke mutters, forcing himself to stand. His bones creak. He groans at the ceiling. 

Ezra directs his attention to Ahsoka in the other chair. “Hey,” he smiles at her as she awakens at the noise, “how are ya?”

Ahsoka yawns, instinctually checking on a sleeping Barriss. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Ezra sighs, shoving his hands in his sweatpant pockets, “she doesn’t look too good, but nothing that can’t heal, right?”

Ahsoka hums as she stands, stretching alongside Luke. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Huh. I didn’t know you were such a ray of sunshine, Bridger.”

“Heh,” Ezra flushes, ducking his head as he recovers, “I try.”

The heart monitor beeps. Barriss makes a mumbling sound. All heads snap towards her as she awakens slowly, nudging her hijab away from her brows and cheeks. “Ezra?”

Ezra brightens, sending Barriss a swoon-worthy grin. “Hey, Bear! Have any cool drug-addled dreams?”

Barriss, to Luke’s surprise, smiles back dazedly. “I had one where ‘Soka was a seductive hippie.”

Ahsoka bristles, barking out scandalously, “why would you say that out loud in front of everyone when that should have been just for meeee?” The last part comes out a whine as she pouts at her girlfriend.

Meanwhile, Ezra laughs. Luke can’t help but join in, garnering a long side glance from Ezra. For some reason.

An intruder tears open the curtain to the emergency room. Han’s sheepish expression fixates on Ezra. “Red alert.”

“Ah shit,” Ezra bares his gritted teeth and flashes them towards the group, “I’m actually here because a family member is getting eye surgery this morning so I gotta go.”

Luke blinks but remains silent. While Ezra was completely honest with him about his living situation, he never mentioned anything about a surgery. A part of him wants to direct his hurt towards Ezra with a pointed frown, but he holds himself back. It isn’t about him. It’s about Ezra having to go through something so stressful.

“Oh god,” Ahsoka furrows her brows, “I hope everything goes okay.”

“Yeah,” Barriss pipes up, “try not to worry.”

Ezra offers Barriss a small smile. “I might come back later, alright?”

“I’ll guard him,” Han chimes in shyly from the curtain, “I’m his guard.” He shoots an awkward thumbs up. “Oh god, I’m an embarrassment. Okay.” He removes his face from the curtain and fades into the hallway.

Ahsoka and Barriss look ready to question Ezra on what Han means, as it is on Luke’s mind as well, but Ezra follows Han away from the room. 

Ahsoka directs her glare at Luke instead. He shrugs.

/

Luke sits in a chair outside of Barriss’s makeshift room. Ahsoka somehow got the terrible hospital WiFi to work and is showing Barriss a soap opera that they watch together. Since Luke isn’t into television that takes place in the afternoon, he fields texts from his family asking if he’s doing okay.

He isn’t, of course he isn’t, but he lies to them anyway.

A person plops next to him. Luke tenses and finishes sending a text to Dad.

The person stares at him, now. The edges of a smile tinge Luke’s peripherals. An elbow on the uncomfortable wooden armrest props up a hand on a chin.

“You don’t look too good,” he murmurs, “when was the last time you had a meal that wasn’t gelatinous in nature?”

Luke’s mouth grows lopsided as he regards Ezra. “I’m fine.”

“You’re wearing a hoodie,” Ezra observes, “that’s a universal sign that the most fashionable kid at school is the farthest possible thing from fine.”

Luke says nothing as Ezra rises to his feet. 

“Han and I are going to McDonald’s,” Ezra says, “Ahsoka is free to join us while we get actual real food.”

Luke hesitates. He hasn’t met Han yet, but they were meant to have a conversation as Ezra’s friends anyway. Why not now?

And he really, really wants a cheeseburger. So bad. Screw the pore-clogging and pimple-popping consequences.

Luke sighs “hang on” while he stands and peels back the curtain. 

Ahsoka pauses the soap opera and scowls at the interruption as she shares the bed with Barriss. When she sees Ezra, though, she backs down from hissing at Luke.

“Ezra and I are going to McDonald’s,” Luke says carefully, leaving out Han, “what do you want?”

Ahsoka frowns, as if not wanting to leave out Barriss, but Ezra says, “I’m sure Barriss can have some fries without dying, huh?”

Barriss snickers in amusement. “I’ll have fries.”

Ahsoka sighs, “fine, I’ll have a hamburger.”

“Cool,” Ezra shoots Barriss a grin, “we’ll be back in about an hour.”

Ahsoka arches a brow at Luke, but says nothing. The question ‘is this a little date?’ flits between their nonverbal bond of friendship. 

“Right,” Luke flounders, “bye, then.”

He ducks under the curtain, Ezra guiding him away. They round a corner and are faced with Han, who leans on a wall watching doctors pass by leisurely. Han notices them, unable to mask an expression of surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d go for it,” Han says to Luke, “but cool. Hey. Han Solo. Prankster extraordinaire.”

Ezra scoffs at his best friend. “Really, man?”

Han’s mouth twists into a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that. I don’t know how to talk to royalty. Should I bow?”

Ezra swats Han’s shoulder, causing him to pout. “Don’t be weird, dude.”

“Right,” Han blinks at Luke, “I’m not getting off on the right foot. Sorry.”

Oddly enough, Luke is not put off by Han’s deliberate missteps. He ignores them because he is tired of having his walls up.

Luke shrugs. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. Will you tell me how you managed to fill Lux’s car with balloons a few weeks ago?”

Han beams. “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Luke can’t help but agree.


	9. Be still, my indelible friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke parks Obi-Wan’s yellow Lincoln Continental on the sidewalk. The rusted poles miming gates loom several paces ahead.
> 
> He looks over his shoulder: a healed Barriss had not removed her head from Ahsoka’s shoulder since Luke started driving them. Barriss uses her hijab to cover the majority of her somber expression, her eyes flicking towards Luke once they brake to a stop.
> 
> The engine running with a purr, he meets Ahsoka’s wary gaze and Barriss’s filmy irises. “I need to tell you both something before we go in there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking,  
> Though quaking, though crazy,  
> That’s just wasteland, baby.
> 
> -Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!”

Luke parks Obi-Wan’s yellow Lincoln Continental on the sidewalk. The rusted poles miming gates loom several paces ahead.

He looks over his shoulder: a healed Barriss had not removed her head from Ahsoka’s shoulder since Luke started driving them. Barriss uses her hijab to cover the majority of her somber expression, her eyes flicking towards Luke once they brake to a stop.

The engine running with a purr, he meets Ahsoka’s wary gaze and Barriss’s filmy irises. “I need to tell you both something before we go in there.”

Barriss lifts her head from Ahsoka’s shoulder. The couple awaits his words.

If Luke thought Barriss’s parents would have to stay in the hospital after waking up, both unfit to care for their daughter until they heal, he would have told them earlier, but the frenzy of Barriss being unable to legally stay with the Kenobis or Skywalkers conquered their minds until this drive.

He rips the keys from the ignition. Luke opens his mouth, and there is a knocking on the passenger’s side window. He jumps, the girls cursing in the back as they snap their heads towards the noise.

Ezra beams and waves through the car window. Heart racing, Luke rolls the window down as Ezra chimes, “hiiii! Welcome to this shit show!”

Ahsoka and Barriss gape at Ezra, then swivel their anger towards Luke.

Luke scowls over at Ezra, who he notes is wearing a bright red Hawaiian shirt complete with coconut palm trees that definitely should not look as good on him as it does. “I told you to wait a minute.”

Ezra crouches down, placing his arms on the lowered window and grinning mischievously at Luke. “And I told you they’re going to be blindsided, but what did you do? You showed up anyway!”

“Well,” Luke smirks, “I couldn’t help myself.”

“See! Me neither!” Ezra exclaims, his voice a tad higher than normal as if explaining a defense.

“Okay,” Ahsoka cuts in, “hang on a minute. You knew,” her eyes stab into Luke, “that he,” her head nudges to Ezra, “is an...uh,” Ahsoka glances shyly at Ezra, “what are you here for?”

Ezra procures his hands from their folded position underneath his arms, making jazz hands. His voice is mock cheery as he declares, “I’m an orphannnn. Yayyy.”

Luke watches Ahsoka’s face change into one of pity. Ezra does not see it, as he decides to open the back door for Barriss.

“Okayyy,” Ezra smiles at Barriss, “this is gonna be hard, I know, but remember you’ve got me, alright?”

Barriss slides out of the car, adjusting her hijab as she studies the foster home. Luke gets out of the convertible, noting that the toilet paper from Lux’s Halloween retaliation is finally gone. 

Ahsoka is slow to exit the car, her mind reeling at the information. Luke rounds the front of the Lincoln; he’s keeping a purposefully-low profile with ratty Skechers, brown corduroys, and a white knit sweater. Barriss asks Ezra in a quiet tone, “what do you mean? Who else is in there?”

Ezra’s easy smile fades. His downcast expression clashes with his loud Hawaiian shirt. He pointedly looks away from Ahsoka, who comes up beside Luke near the sidewalk.

“A lot of things in school are suddenly going to make sense,” Ezra says to Barriss, “but it’s important that you don’t bring attention to it. This place is,” he sighs, “it’s full of drama. I’ll tell you about it once you get settled in a room, okay?”

Barriss purses her lips, but accepts with a nod. Considering she hasn’t been herself lately for obvious reasons, Ahsoka and Luke stand down from inquiries as well. They open the trunk and get Barriss’s bags instead, reaching the sidewalk once the car is locked.

Ezra guides them through the walkway towards the house. Syndulla Family Foster Care from an exterior perspective is a creaky monstrosity with two levels and plenty of bedrooms. When the property was first made, Luke figures it was a nursing home or orphanage.

They ascend three steps towards the front door, which is left partially open for their expected arrival. 

Ezra sighs before he pushes it ajar, looking over his shoulder again. He fixates on Luke. “I don’t know what they’re going to say when they see you, so I’m sorry in advance.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I don’t like this already.”

A side of Ezra’s mouth wobbles. “I don’t either.”

The honesty hits Luke hard. He barely has time to register the genuine sorrow before Ezra is stepping through the threshold. Barriss files in behind him, Ahsoka entering next to hold her hand. 

Luke waits a beat as voices greet the pair. He wants to turn around and leave, but the bags he held roots him to his purpose. He is meant to be a good friend today. He takes a breath and starts forward.

His eyes automatically travel to a massive staircase in the middle of the foyer. Everyone he expects to be there chose a stoop. A judgemental Sabine with freshly-dyed orange hair leans forward on the lowest step, complimenting her neon clothes and jewelry. Her gaze grows harsher than the desert outside when she registers him. A gothic-clothed Ketsu placing a hand on Sabine’s knee is the only reason she shows restraint. 

Midway up the stairs is another couple: Zeb and Kallus. Zeb’s red varsity jacket dwarfs his entire form, which is none too pleased upon recognizing Luke. Kallus, as well, does not dampen Zeb’s reaction; even though Kallus is a recluse, he has strong beliefs against the privileged.

Chewie sits right behind them, having the guts to sign a hello to the trio with a smile attached. As Han and Ezra’s other close friend, Chewie is in Luke’s favor.

But at the top of the stairs, as far away from them as possible, is a steaming Zare. His gaze freezes on Luke as if Luke personally ruined his life, jaw clenching. Luke is surprised at such a negative reaction, but he cautiously masks his expression into something neutral.

A woman who must be Hera welcomes Barriss with a calming nature. She notes Luke and Ahsoka with the bags and prompts, “Kanan?”

A man around Hera’s age with cloth wrapped around his eyes enters the foyer. Luke once again keeps his mouth shut. Based on the cloth bandages, Kanan is the one who had eye surgery at the hospital.

Luke blinks as Kanan approaches them. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I may not be able to see you, but I can help with these.”

Ahsoka tenses slightly, but holds out a bag. It rustles, and Kanan’s fingers close around it with no issue. Luke gives one of his bags to Ahsoka.

“Thank you,” Ahsoka manages to Kanan.

Hera emits a whistle towards the group assembled on the staircase. “Move it!”

After some grumbles, Sabine, Ketsu, Kallus, Zeb, Chewie, and Zare disperse either up or down the stairs. None of them speak to Barriss, Ahsoka, or Luke. Ezra stays smiling as if this is normal. 

Hera invites Barriss closer with a “come on, dear. Your friends can help you set up.”

Kanan ascends the stairs. Hera stays beside Barriss and Ezra. Ahsoka and Luke take up the rear with the rest of Barriss’s bags.

Hera explains, “my family estate has twelve bedrooms. We regularly have eight of those in service, with Zare being our latest addition, so there is always room for cases of temporary stay.”

Luke wants to comment that she talks like the foster home is a hotel, but he snaps his mouth shut. Not the right place nor time.

They reach the top of the staircase. Hera guides them to the right. Bedrooms line each side of the banisters. 

“We’ll give you the room closest to the end,” Hera says as the house’s inhabitants fade away as if never there, “for your own privacy while you get adjusted. Is that alright with you, dear?”

Barriss bobs her head in affirmation. Hera sends her a sweet smile in understanding.

As Kanan opens the rightmost door, Hera says, “Ezra is next door, and since he assures me you know each other,” Barriss nods towards Ezra, “he’ll be a great help. Feel free to ask him if you need something, okay?”

“Okay,” Barriss says quietly.

The group files into the bedroom. It is a couple paces long before they reach a shuttered window. There is a bed pushed to one side while the other has a dresser and closet. The furniture is basic and all the amenities she would need. 

Kanan drops his bag and ducks out while Luke and Ahsoka leave their bags next to it. Luke meets Ezra’s expression, which remains lighthearted despite the disappearance of the teenagers living in this packed house.

Hera continues to Barriss, “there are two bathrooms upstairs, one on each side, and one downstairs next to the kitchen. There’s a chore wheel in the kitchen where one task should be completed each day.” Hera says sternly, “I run a tight ship in regards to school work. I want you all to do well for yourselves, find a career that makes you happy, and no circumstances, no matter how horrible,” there’s sympathy in her voice, “is grounds for slacking on your studies. So long as you do chores and do your homework,” Hera emphasizes, “I’ll allow you to do anything you wish with your free time. Is that understood?”

Barriss murmurs, “yes, ma’am.”

“Now,” Hera glances worriedly near the open door, “I need to get something sorted. Ezra-”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ezra says.

Hera smiles, her expression melting in relief. “See,” she pats his cheek affectionately, “this is why you’re my favorite.” 

Hera’s fingers slide away from Ezra’s jaw. She is gone with a purposeful stride. All eyes are on an aloof Ezra.

He grins. All teeth. Nervous.

Ezra closes the door and locks it. He places an ear against the wood for a beat, then deems it safe to talk.

“So,” Ezra says cheerily, “to get your questions out of the way, Ahsoka, Barriss, yes, it’s true,” he pauses, “I can totally pull off Hawaiian shirts.”

Barriss laughs, a soft and slow sound that takes a second for Luke to register. Her smile, brightening her dark clothing and hijab, is the reason Ahsoka doesn’t tear at Ezra’s throat and throttle him for answers.

Ezra reads Ahsoka’s expression, which is in the danger zone, and placates, “okay, sorry. But seriously, though, yes, I’m an orphan. Have been for a decade now. I’ve made peace with it,” he shrugs it off, “and yeah, everyone here has had a serious reckoning in their lives. We all grew up together for the most part, but lately, it’s been,” Ezra huffs, “I’ll try and keep you out of it, Barriss, but this house has basically decided,” he reveals, “to wage a war with the rich.”

“Why?” Ahsoka folds her arms and scoffs. “I was an orphan before I got adopted, but I don’t want to cause bodily harm to Luke or anything.”

Ezra winces; Luke wonders if he is jealous that Ahsoka got out of the system so young. “Ever since high school, I don’t know or remember how it happened, exactly,” Ezra tries to explain, “but everybody here decided they hated the world. I thought it was just, y’know, puberty bullshit,” he sighs, “but they started blaming their problems on the rich. They started vandalizing shit and putting up graffiti and slashing sports car tires.” His eyes harden. “It’s gone too far for my liking. Halloween was a disaster.”

“But you live here,” Ahsoka says softly, “so you have no choice, right?”

“I always have a choice,” Ezra is conflicted as to how much he should tell them, “but when I don’t go with them, they act against me, which is,” his shoulders slump, “what they’re probably doing now, because I let Luke in and I’m being decent towards all of you.”

“Should I be protecting you,” Barriss wonders to Ezra, “instead of the other way around?”

That gets Ezra to chuckle. “I’m glad you’re going to be around. I know this is a lot to dump on you, which I’m sorry about,” Ezra sighs to Barriss, “but it’s my hope that you’ll ease the tensions.”

“What is it about everyone,” Ahsoka asks boldly, “that made them look at my best friend that way?”

Luke worries his lip at the acknowledgment.

“And why,” Ahsoka directs to Luke, “is my best friend fine with being glared at when the guy I know would’ve cut their tongues out?”

Luke didn’t want to admit he is uncomfortable here. He is on edge; while he is used to the pressure of being famous, this is different. Almost everyone in this house actively hates him. It itches under his skin, but he couldn’t tell them that. He is here to be a friend for Barriss and Ahsoka. His personal feelings couldn’t get in the way of such a terrible situation.

Instead, Luke diverts, “you heard Ezra. My mere presence ruffles feathers.” He folds his arms, fingers playing with loose yarn in his white sweater. “Your first question is far more important,” he looks over at Ezra and asks gently, “what happened to them?”

Ezra glances around sheepishly, as if expecting someone to burst through the door or hear a shout through the walls. But there is silence; everyone else must be downstairs.

He regards the circle they create in the middle of Barriss’s room. Ezra reads their expressions one by one before speaking:

“Sabine and Ketsu emancipated. They found Kallus at a fire station. Zeb is an orphan like me. Chewie was taken away from his family by the courts. And Zare,” Ezra hesitates, “well, Zare’s mom is in rehab.”

It’s a lot to take in at once. Luke cannot speak for anyone else, but it is far worse than he imagined.

There is a knock on the door. It is light and careful, so they deem it safe.

Ezra walks over and opens the door slowly. He peers through and sighs audibly. He pushes open the door so that they could see the dark-skinned teenage boy on the other side of it. “Hey Chewie.”

Chewie signs to Ezra. Since Luke does not understand ASL, he waits for context clues.

Ezra mutters a curse. He signs something back to Chewie. He nods in understanding and hangs outside.

Ezra says to the assembled group behind him, “I have to deal with everyone downstairs. You can unpack while Chewie keeps an eye on you.”

He offers a smile before beelining down the hallway. His Hawaiian shirt flutters behind him where a button is unfastened, hair flowing with a gust of wind over his shoulders.

Luke’s heart quickens, but he dismisses it as Chewie enters their vision. He holds up a hand as a hello. Chewie holds up in hand in return, leaning against the opposite hallway and motioning for them to unpack. 

Chewie smiles and gets out his smartphone. Luke recognizes it as a way to set them at ease, so he turns back towards Barriss and Ahsoka. 

Ahsoka smirks at him. “I know you want to.”

Luke shakes his head, cheeks flushing. There’s no way he’s going to eavesdrop when he’s inside a literal lion’s den.

“Luke,” Ahsoka encourages, “do it. Come on. For me?”

“For us?” Barriss amends.

Luke sighs deeply. “Chewie’s out there.”

Ahsoka nudges her head over Luke’s shoulder. He stiffens, glancing over slowly.

Chewie points in the direction of the staircase. Goading him to do it.

Oh, fuck it.

Luke walks quietly down the hall and descends the staircase. Voices register to his right, so he leans against a wall. Behind the open door is the kitchen entrance, where the entire household is gathered. He flattens himself against the adjacent wall and hates himself for eavesdropping.

“-communicate your opinions by not interrupting each other,” Hera says evenly, “now, you know the drill. Sit down, both of you.”

Luke creeps over, an eye registering Ezra, who does not hide his fuming interior, plop himself at one end of a table. A frown etches there permanently, harsh eyes regarding whoever is across the table.

Sabine’s voice travels across the kitchen. “May I go first?”

“You may,” Hera says coolly.

“I feel betrayed,” Sabine articulates, “that Ezra would take a bipartisan stance in our struggle against the patriarchy, and that he would be skewed in favor for allowing judgemental rich kids into our sacred space.”

“Good,” Hera mediates, “go ahead, Ezra.”

“I disagree,” Ezra says measuredly, “that I let in judgemental rich kids into this house. I only let in one rich kid, and he isn’t judgemental. Answer me this: has Luke Skywalker ever acted against us by working alone or aiding someone else?”

There is silence. Luke’s heart races; he never expected Ezra to defend him in this way. He has no idea how to feel about it, but his feelings are definitely more positive than negative.

“Exactly,” Ezra says, “he hasn’t. I’ll shield him from all of you if I have to, if you won’t give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides,” he adds, “you would actually be supporting a matriarchy, not a patriarchy.”

‘I’ll shield him from all of you if I have to’ rings like a metronome in the back of Luke’s mind. It’s not something he would ask for Ezra to do, but an odd part of him craves it. He wants a knight in one of his favorite old movies to protect him from both sides of the growing conflict at school. Luke couldn’t take a neutral stance forever; his rich acquaintances would embolden to more than just teepeeing foster homes. But if he spoke out when they are dead-set on escalating a harsh prank, it places him in harm’s way with Leia. He knows his sister does not take being pumped with laxatives as a harmless joke.

Luke fixates on the painting of the foster home inhabitants across the hallway. Sabine’s artistic talent is well-known, but he never truly appreciated her knack for depicting colorful scenes.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sabine demands. “That’s what we all want to know. Why wouldn’t you tell us you’re friends with them now?”

“Would you tell you?” Ezra counters. “It’s not like I can talk over your megaphone, Sabine.”

The room settles into stifling silence. Luke holds his breath as if they would be able to sense his loud exhales.

“And since we’re airing out grievances,” Ezra says carefully, “I have a question: why aren’t you criticizing Zare for hanging out with the rich kids?”

“Ezra,” Kanan pipes up, “you know the rules.”

“You know what,” Zare’s steps are prominent as he advances. A chair scrapes loudly, receiving a chide from Hera. The chair halts closer to Ezra based on the way Zare’s voice travels, “I’m sick of you burning holes in the back of my neck every time I walk by. Let’s break the rules.” There is a rustle to indicate Zare adjusts in his seat. “There’s something you don’t like about me. What is it?”

“I already told you,” Ezra recalls, “we already had this conversation at the lockers.”

“Wait a minute,” Hera cuts in, “what are you two talking about?”

“Ezra and Zare had a confrontation at the lockers a few weeks ago,” Zeb informs from the sidelines.

“About Luke,” Sabine gasps in realization, “it was because of Luke!” She hisses, “see?! These rich kids cause trouble! They divide us!”

“Be respectful,” Hera emphasizes again, “you yielded your time with Ezra to Zare.”

“Not really,” Sabine mutters before falling silent.

“Now,” Hera asks Ezra and Zare, “what was this discussion about? We will start with Zare’s side.”

Zare clears his throat. “I was asking Luke to go to the Halloween party with me even though he says no. Ezra told me to leave him alone.”

Luke wants to roll his eyes and scoff. It’s typical of guys like Zare to find a way to look blameless in a situation that’s their fault. Luke wants to feel bad for Zare’s circumstances, but ultimately, Ezra is right: bad behavior shouldn’t be tolerated.

“Ezra,” Hera says curtly. Luke winces at the dangerous edge to her tone.

Ezra explains, “I told Zare to leave Luke alone because Luke was clearly uncomfortable by the way he tenses up every time Zare flirts with him.”

“And how do you know this for certain?” Hera poses.

If Luke were braver, he would stride in and declare ‘because I told him so.’ But he is rooted to his spot; it wouldn’t look good if they knew he’s eavesdropping on a private exchange.

Ezra replies, “I don’t want to betray Luke’s trust by answering for him.”

“But you know the answer,” Hera states.

“Yes,” Ezra weighs.

Hera sighs, “that means I already know the answer, and I won’t like it.”

Zare scoffs.

“Now,” Hera directs her words to Zare, “you’re not going to bother that boy. Is that understood?”

Zare grumbles.

“Is that understood?” Hera repeats.

“Yes,” Zare exhales.

Hera projects, “Barriss is our guest. Ahsoka and possibly Luke will be visiting her, and I don’t want to hear about any more incidents. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they mumble in unison.

Luke takes his cue to sneak away, ascending the staircase on tiptoes before he could be caught. He meets Chewie’s gaze once he reaches the top, receiving a thumbs up. Luke sighs in relief as Barriss and Ahsoka exit the bedroom. His mind and heart race at what he overheard, but Ahsoka’s nod indicates Barriss is unpacked and they can leave.

Luke sends Barriss a weary smile. “Ezra will look after you, alright?”

“What happened?” Barriss asks.

Luke glances over his shoulder. Chewie hangs back neutrally.

He replies, “Ezra defended me. And us. So you should be alright.”

Ahsoka frowns. “There’s more to it than that, I can tell.”

“Maybe later,” Luke dismisses with a tired sigh.

“Okay,” Ahsoka kisses Barriss’s cheek, “I’ll call you tonight, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Barriss murmurs.

Luke guides Ahsoka out of the house with no issues, receiving goodbye waves from Chewie and Ezra. If Ahsoka notices Luke exhale deeply in relief as they leave in Obi-Wan’s convertible, she does not mention it.


	10. I can’t take it when you look me in my eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra sets down the cardboard box on the dinner table that has yet to be set up with silverware and adornments. He flips open the top flaps, peering down into the box. His eyes bulge.
> 
> “Are you sure we can have all of this?” Ezra asks slowly and softly.
> 
> Hera peers over his shoulder and cracks a rare smile at the contents. “We’ll have a real feast now.”
> 
> Ezra smiles over his shoulder at the couple. “I...thank you, Ahsoka.”
> 
> The teenage girl smirks in return. “It’s not me you should thank.”
> 
> Ezra pinches his brows together in puzzlement. The statement gets Hera to pause in unpacking the food in the box.
> 
> Ahsoka winks. It hits Ezra, and he burns.
> 
> “L-Luke?” Ezra stammers, gaze dashing down to his dirty socks as the information registers fully. “Luke did this?”
> 
> “It was his idea,” Ahsoka emphasizes. “He has a message too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it’s been written before,  
> But up until now couldn’t find the words ‘cause,  
> Ain’t nobody gotten through to me,  
> Nobody else but you to me,  
> Nobody else can turn me inside out inside myself.  
> And I can’t take it when you look me in my eyes.
> 
> -Bea Miller, “crash&burn”

Ezra finishes stacking aluminum cans of food on the counter. The side facing the swinging kitchen door forms a gateway of cans taking up valuable counter space. He smiles at his successful wall of canned food sorted by type, color, and size. It is rare to behold so much food in this house at once that is not purchased with meager stamps on welfare days.

Despite this, however, Ezra is unsure if it will be enough for a feast. Eight hungry teenagers and two adults in their early thirties consume a dump truck full of calories.

Hera pushes through the kitchen door and regards the wall of canned food. “We’re not playing capture the flag here, Ezra.”

Ezra smirks delightedly. “Can’t a guy appreciate Thanksgiving?”

Hera sighs and plucks a can of white potatoes from the top of the wall. It makes a hard clang sound against the counter as she procures a can opener. A drawer opens and closes. “Not when I know that guy has to finish his essay analyzing Fahrenheit 451.”

Ezra pouts. “You suck.”

Hera sticks her tongue at him. Not very adult guardian behavior at all.

The doorbell rings, the chime resounding throughout the foster home. 

“You’re lucky,” Hera says, placing the can opener down on the counter. 

Ezra follows Hera as she pushes past the kitchen and crosses the foyer. His gaze sweeps around the staircase and second floor balcony. The entire contents of the house spilled out of their rooms to learn who would dare show up. Ezra sighs; they don’t get many visitors. 

He stands warily and purposefully blocks the view of his foster family.

Hera wrenches open the front doors. “Oh!” She exclaims cheerily. “Ahsoka, dear! Are you here to see Barriss?”

“Actually,” Ahsoka’s voice trails into the foyer as Ezra advances towards Hera, “I’m here to drop off stuff.”

“Oh?” Hera arches a brow.

Ezra rounds Hera’s form. Ahsoka stands with a massive brown box on the doorstep. She wears a maroon sweater, jeans, and fur-lined boots to account for the blustery weather. He notes that new sky blue and white braids are weaved into her dreadlocks.

When Ahsoka peers over at Ezra, she smiles impishly. “Hey,” she bobs her head and presses the toe of her boot against the box, “this is extra supplies from the store.”

“Really?” Hera’s brow climbs in shock. She looks to Ezra for an explanation.

Ezra flounders sheepishly, “Ahsoka’s adopted parents own a convenience store. Kenobi’s?”

“Oh,” Hera purses her lips, “him.”

Ezra arches a brow at Hera. One side of his mouth curves upwards in amusement. “Is there something you wanna get off your chest, Ma?”

Hera shoots him with a glare. “Not with that tone, thank you very much. I just,” she says carefully, “remember him running around with the Skywalker guy at school. The husband.”

The mention of Luke’s Dad piques Ahsoka’s interest visibly, but she is shut down by Hera’s no-nonsense turnaround.

“Take it inside,” Hera orders Ezra.

Ezra grumbles but squeezes past her in the doorway. He bends down and grasps both ends of the cardboard box. He grits his teeth and lifts, shocked at its heftiness. The cardboard scrapes against his belted jeans as Ezra gains a good grip on it. His neon orange shirt wrinkles at the stomach, so he adjusts the weight to compensate. Ahsoka smirks. Ezra sends a pout in return.

As Ezra carries the cardboard box into the foyer, an audience granting him all of their attention, Hera invites, “come inside for a moment, Ahsoka. I’m sure Barriss would like to see you before cooking starts.”

Ahsoka obliges based on the way her boots hit the rug and wooden floorboards. She must see everyone watching her, so she ducks her head and follows Ezra to the kitchen.

A groaning staircase precedes Barriss’s hurried arrival as she catches up with her girlfriend’s stride. It gives Ahsoka pause, and she smiles at Barriss as they enter the kitchen space.

Ezra sets down the cardboard box on the dinner table that has yet to be set up with silverware and adornments. He flips open the top flaps, peering down into the box. His eyes bulge.

“Are you sure we can have all of this?” Ezra asks slowly and softly.

Hera peers over his shoulder and cracks a rare smile at the contents. “We’ll have a real feast now.”

Ezra smiles over his shoulder at the couple. “I...thank you, Ahsoka.”

The teenage girl smirks in return. “It’s not me you should thank.”

Ezra pinches his brows together in puzzlement. The statement gets Hera to pause in unpacking the food in the box.

Ahsoka winks. It hits Ezra, and he burns.

“L-Luke?” Ezra stammers, gaze dashing down to his dirty socks as the information registers fully. “Luke did this?”

“It was his idea,” Ahsoka emphasizes. “He has a message too.”

Ezra hadn’t really been given the chance to text or call Luke lately. Not since Barriss moved into the foster home and Ezra protected her by hissing at anyone who asked her about Ahsoka or Luke. He is unsure of their intentions in asking such pointed questions, but it does not cast his foster siblings in the best light. They are strong-minded in the worst ways, and it is better to err on the safe side.

But as a result, Ezra had more eyes on him than ever. Kanan and Hera did their due diligence breaking up altercations before they could arise, but it wasn’t enough. Sabine, Kallus, and Zare still stared at him as if they were waiting for the right opportunity to gut him. Zeb and Ketsu had gotten more understanding about the tough position Ezra was in, though they weren’t exactly sympathetic. Chewie and Barriss were his true friends, and with Han having his own family problems, they were his salvation in this house.

However, Ezra misses the ability to talk to Luke without someone bothering him. Ezra could almost say he misses Luke even though they pass each other in the hallways and have classes together. It wasn’t the same as sitting on the counter at Kenobi’s, Ezra sipping a soda while Luke chewed on disgusting Twizzlers.

Ahsoka ensures no one is lingering near the kitchen door, though Ezra is pretty sure they are eavesdropping anyways. Ezra’s careful eyes lift from his socks, Hera soundlessly maneuvering cans of food behind him.

“The rich kids are planning something,” Ahsoka says, “Luke’s gonna keep an ear open tonight for you.”

Ezra blanches. He remembers the war waged between locker stacks, insults whispered in the hallways, passed notes containing plans that stretch beyond a pack of pranksters. 

It would all come to a head sooner rather than later. The prospect scares him.

Ezra makes to quip something about the ridiculousness of spying, the immaturity of spearheading double agencies, but all that comes out of him is a deep chest-collapsing sigh.

“He’ll be fine,” Barriss chirps.

Ahsoka frowns at her girlfriend. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d conclude that,” she forces herself to grimace, “but I like the positive outlook.”

Hera winces notably behind Ezra. She masks it by wringing out a hand, as if she picked up a can that was too heavy.

“Well,” Ahsoka chimes, “have a good Thanksgiving, Ezra. Missus Syndulla.” She nudges Barriss’s elbow to make her tense posture relax. “This one likes to hoard the mashed potatoes, so watch out for her.”

Ezra smiles meekly. Ahsoka leaves the kitchen after kissing Barriss’s cheek goodbye. The door shuts loudly a few beats later. Barriss watches Ahsoka leave.

Hera says nothing as Ezra stands in the middle of the kitchen floor and sighs forlornly.

/

They make it to the pumpkin pie. It is a record-breaking monumental occasion. They make it to the pumpkin pie before the false amiable behavior unravels with every forkful of crunchy crust and creamy pumpkin filling.

Of course it is Zare. Of course it is Zare whose voice rises amongst the clattering cutlery as Ezra swallows a glob of whipped cream.

“I heard Lando talking down Lux the other day,” Zare says vaguely. “It could be bad news,” he gestures to Sabine, “right, boss?”

They went by without talking about school drama this entire time, but Ezra knew it would come up. Zare really couldn’t help himself.

The room is sucked of air. Hera and Kanan tense on opposite sides of the table. It is forever odd to Ezra that neither of them shut them down when elementary warfare is brought up.

The rest of his foster siblings swivel their heads carefully towards Zare. They look around at each other as if expecting a fight. Ezra instinctually sends reassuring glances to Barriss and Chewie on both sides of him. He would take care of it.

Sabine places her fork down, resting it diagonally against the plate. Her slice of pumpkin pie remains half-unfinished.

“It could be,” Sabine shares looks with Kallus and Ketsu, “something of note. What else did you hear?”

“Lando just told Lux ‘you can’t do that to them,’” Zare mimes voices, “and Lux was like ‘I’m ending this once and for all.’” Zare throws up his hands. “It could be a prank? I don’t know.”

“Hm,” Sabine casts her gaze down at the plate in thought, “I’ll wager it’s something worse than that.”

“Lando always defends us,” Ketsu points out, “so we should just ask him.”

“I don’t know if that’s the right play,” Kallus strategizes, “Lando is a neutral party. He’s rich but charitable.”

“We know somebody else like that,” Zare snorts, “don’t we, Ezra?”

Ezra steels himself by grating his teeth. The sugar in his mouth is not enough to take the edge off the inner sourness.

He straightens in his seat, but keeps his gaze cast downwards. There’s no way he’s playing this game today. Or ever. He won’t do it.

“Rich,” Zare goads, “but charitable. That’s all he’s doing, you know. Being,” he says it like a dirty word, “charitable.”

Ezra wants to tell him that he’s wrong, because he is, but he does not get the chance.

“You know what,” Barriss pipes up, her gaze boring harshly into Zare, “I refuse to let any of you degrade the best guy I know in our entire shitty school.”

The silence has Ezra hiding a gape with a final forkful of pumpkin pie.

“Sure, he’s my girlfriend’s best friend, and I really, really didn’t want to like him at first,” Barriss admits, to Ezra’s heart-stopping surprise, “but he’s an absolute stand-up guy. When I was in the hospital, he was right there by Ahsoka’s side. The two of them hardly left while I recovered from the most traumatic experience of my entire life. There’s no one else in this world as loyal as him, and as kind as him, and certainly no one as naturally forgiving,” she enunciates the last word, “of the terrible way he is treated by pretty much everyone in his life.” She barks out a laugh. “And that’s counting both sides!” Barriss’s mouth curls into a snarl. “I’m sick of it. He doesn’t want you.” She drags a finger down her cheek as if faking a tear and frowns at Zare. “Boo. Fucking. Hoo.”

Zeb cannot help but snicker.

“He has bigger problems in his life,” Barriss growls at Zare, “and the last thing he needs is to deal with guys like you.”

At that, her palms slap on the tablecloth. She pushes herself up, her hijab swinging as she turns. The chair screeches against the floor.

She is about to storm out when a smartphone ringing shatters the atmosphere. A buzz lights up Ezra’s pocket. Barriss stills. Ezra blinks down at his jeans.

He slides his phone out, heart skipping a beat at the caller ID: Luke.

Ezra does not meet any of their gazes as he stands up. Barriss moves so he can step away from his screeching chair. He exits the kitchen, Barriss following him closely. 

He stands in the middle of the foyer and answers with a befuddled “Luke?”

“I found out what they’re planning,” Luke says, the roar of a motorcycle engine slicing into the audio, “do you have some time?”

“Mhm,” Ezra hums, heart thudding in his ribcage.

“I’m going to the flood channel,” Luke informs, “meet me there.”

Ezra gulps and hangs up the phone. His hand falls from his ear, and he blinks over at Barriss.

He glances over worriedly at the kitchen door. As expected, Chewie stands in the swinging frame awaiting an order.

Ezra signs ‘watch over Barriss.’

Chewie nods in confirmation.

Ezra murmurs to Barriss, “I have to go see what Luke found out. Chewie will look after you.”

Barriss bobs her head, though a flash in her eyes indicates she wants to protest.

Ezra tucks his smartphone in his pocket and leaves the house with a resounding slam of the front doors.

/

Seeing him shouldn’t be so cataclysmic every time they locked eyes. Even in the darkness, even with only motorcycle headlights to guide them, even with the dangerous slapping of rainwater from their last storm filling the flood channel, Luke manages to throw Ezra’s mind into disarray.

Ezra removes the bucket helmet slowly, the straps smacking against the awkward shape of his features. He kicks down the metal motorcycle stand and casts his legs on one side, pushing into an upright position. He hides his expression as he drinks in Luke, the helmet dropping messily on the motorcycle seat.

Luke is dressed for a formal dinner party. His suit is a rustic cinnamon color, reddish brown pants and a jacket offsetting a white dress shirt. Ezra can almost smell cinnamon sticks wafting from the interior of a home decoration store, meant to entice him closer. Whatever tie Luke wore earlier is gone, a single button at his collar freeing his neck from sweating in a probably-stuffy dining room. His tailored pants are tucked into a loose pair of brown riding boots, intended for equestrians but Ezra figures a motorcycle is much of the same thing as horses.

Ezra’s shoes crunch against the sand as he advances, his expression downcast for his own sanity. He runs a hand through his helmet hair; he rushed out of the house so quickly he nearly forgot his shoes, let alone remembered to tie up his long hair to prevent a raven’s nest.

To his surprise, Luke teases, “so you finally decided to wear a helmet, huh?”

Ezra studies Luke’s quirked lip in a mixture of bemusement and confusion. He halts where Luke stands near his Harley, keeping plenty of distance. The flood channel whooshes with a particularly thick wave of leftover rainwater. The headlights glitter attractively against Luke’s paler skin tone.

“Did I,” Luke is frowning, suddenly, and Ezra aches to wipe it off his face, “interrupt something important?”

“No,” Ezra sighs, struggling to smile. His fingers fidget so much that he casts his arms behind his back to hide his apprehension. “What did you hear, Luke?”

Luke’s expression falls instantly; Ezra is too anxious to regret causing it. He inhales in a careful breath, then says:

“They’re going to challenge you to a paintball war after midterms.”

Ezra blinks. He might have expected something as ridiculous and trivial as a fashion contest, but fighting dirty? On an obstacle course? It is the last thing Ezra would have thought of doing.

His knee-jerk reaction is to laugh. It starts low and reedy in the back of his throat. It rises a full octave, his tone tapering due to his nerves at the prospect of a battle royale that his foster family could win; it’s too good to be true. He gasps like a dolphin, then laughs at himself, doubling over to hide his blush.

There has to be a catch to the challenge. Ezra’s guess is that the rich kids are secretly trained in combat and would have skills to unleash on the dirt-stricken battleground. But that isn’t what he cares about at the moment.

He lets his laugh die down with a pointed sniffle. He stands straight again and rubs at his face, catching his breath in a huff. He swipes away his untamed hair.

“So we shoot them with some paint and it’s over?” Ezra snickers. “I have to be honest: I’m disappointed.”

Luke does not smile. His eyes are wary and somber. He sticks his hands in his suit jacket pockets.

Ezra crashes down to earth in an unwelcome sputter. “There’s more to it than that,” Ezra worries his lip, “isn’t there?”

Luke does not want to tell him. It is clear in the way he hesitates.

But ultimately, he does reveal:

“It was Zare’s idea.”

It shouldn’t shock him. It really shouldn’t.

But it does.

Ezra’s mouth falls open. He flounders like a drowning guppy. His jaw muscle struggles to clamp against his upper teeth. He swallows a gulp of dry autumn air.

Luke takes a step forward, unsure whether to advance further. The Harley headlights illuminate one half of Luke’s face while the other blends into pitch black. He stays rooted to the sand.

He murmurs, “Zare is the one orchestrating the conflict between us. Lux was prepared to let go of what happened on Halloween, but it was Zare who insisted they escalate things. Once my sister’s bloodlust for revenge got into the mix, well,” Luke winces, “Lux didn’t have a chance to make them see reason. When Leia tells you to do something, you do it or you’re out of the club.”

Ezra’s eyes water; when did that happen?

“I,” Ezra swallows a lump in his throat, “what about you? Are you out of the club?”

Luke’s eyes glisten. “I will be after I betray them.”

Ezra loses his fire. His fight leaves him in the whistle of a dying flame. He is extinguished of hope.

There is nothing Ezra can do to protect Luke. Barriss, yes. Ahsoka, yes. Chewie, yes. He could even protect Han by distancing himself.

But Luke? No.

And it is suddenly all Ezra wants to do: protect the teenage boy caught in the middle of a pointless turf war perpetuated by Zare’s rage and refusal to accept Luke’s rejections. Zare’s hatred that he cannot be Ezra or Ahsoka or Barriss and gain Luke’s trust. Zare’s jealousy that Ezra is Luke’s friend, when Ezra wants more, something more that he will never speak into existence or the entire world would crumble but, oh, it wouldn’t matter, would it? It wouldn’t matter, because he is crashing alongside Luke, crashing with him, right beside him, a cinnamon-scented daydream with understated intelligence and sugary sweetness, a face that could launch a thousand ships, start wars and end them with a smile, Ezra’s very own Helen of Troy, Luke of Troy, Luke of Hearts-

No. Stop. This is why Luke ran away from Zare. This is why he discouraged Hobbie all those weeks ago. Ezra couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to Luke. 

Never.

Luke forces a smile amongst bright eyes. The headlights shine favorably upon him as he backpedals to his motorcycle.

“Don’t worry about me,” Luke says softly, “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

All too quickly, Luke is leaving him. Luke is leaving him, casting both legs over his Harley Davidson and twisting the key in the ignition.

Amongst the roaring of the engine, Ezra fixates on a golden head. He regains his wit and shouts, “hey, you don’t have a helmet!”

Luke smirks at him above the headlights. It hits Ezra smack dab in his chest, and he laughs.

“Hypocrite!” Ezra exclaims, laughing boisterously as Luke peels away from the flood channel.

He smiles to himself even as the sloshing water overtakes his ears and Luke’s motorcycle could not be heard anymore.


	11. If I can have this dance tonight, I promise that you won’t forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke rubs the soapy rag in slow circular motions around his precious Harley Davidson’s tires. The garage of the Skywalker mansion proves to be the only reprieve Luke receives from school and family drama.
> 
> The dim lamps on the ceiling flicker. He frowns, pausing in his task. The wet rag slips and plops on the ground. 
> 
> The light shifts from golden to fuschia. Luke rises slowly to his feet as the garage is bathed in shades of crimson, pomegranate, and magenta. 
> 
> His head whirls to the side door, prepared to yell for Dad, but the shout dies in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I can have this dance tonight,  
> I promise that you won’t forget.  
> I’ve been searching all my life,  
> For something that I won’t regret.
> 
> -RINI, “Aphrodite”

Luke rubs the soapy rag in slow circular motions around his precious Harley Davidson’s tires. The garage of the Skywalker mansion proves to be the only reprieve Luke receives from school and family drama.

The dim lamps on the ceiling flicker. He frowns, pausing in his task. The wet rag slips and plops on the ground. 

The light shifts from golden to fuschia. Luke rises slowly to his feet as the garage is bathed in shades of crimson, pomegranate, and magenta. 

His head whirls to the side door, prepared to yell for Dad, but the shout dies in his throat.

Ezra advances in seamless strides. Thump, thump. A tuxedo flatters his form. Thump, thump. His hair is slicked back, dusting his shoulders. Thump, thump. His eyes glimmer in wonderment, taking in Luke. Thump thump thump thump.

His smile. Oh god.

Ezra draws Luke to him in a single sway. Their bodies halt a breath apart. Luke gasps at the proximity, gaze dashing from Ezra’s bow tie to his glittering eyes. The lamps above them dim to a soft pink, highlighting Ezra’s healthy copper skin.

Luke’s breath catches and holds. Ezra’s fingers trail down his lower left arm, oddly dry from the soap and water. Luke is entranced, but does not stop him.

Ezra’s hand eases up Luke’s arm. His elbow bends on its own accord. Their fingers lace and linger at shoulder level. 

Ezra chuckles, an amused tug pulling at one corner of his mouth. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

His other hand ushers Luke’s arm to the side, extended outwards in a horizontal angle. Luke is at a loss for words as Ezra’s chest presses against his. Luke’s exhale comes out shallow, in disbelief. Thump thump.

They sway in a simple box step. Luke feels utterly out of place in cartoon socks, baggy sweatpants, and an old Henley shirt, but a part of it feels right. Like he could breathe again. Like he’s never truly sighed in contentment before.

Thump. Thump.

Luke’s gaze meets Ezra’s. His eyes captivate. An expanse of a long lost sea, left unexplored and abandoned for even the most adventurous pirates to care about traversing the waters. 

They shine. Ezra’s eyes shine for him. All of that affection. All of that awe. All of that...all of that...appreciation. All of that appreciation, as if Ezra felt unworthy.

That was what bothered him. Ezra thought he was unworthy of Luke, when it should be regarded the other way; Ezra shouldn’t have to deal with Luke’s life, his baggage, his party drinking to drown out the sorrowful world around him.

But why is he acting like Ezra is his? He isn’t Luke’s. No. He could never make such a claim. Never.

Not Ezra’s gaze flickers across Luke’s expression in concern. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Their swaying stops, jarring Luke’s blurry state of mind. The lamps flicker from peach pink to blood red.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

His heart. Why is his heart beating so fast?

No. No no no. No no no no no. Oh no.

Oh god. No.

“No,” Luke backpedals, not even feeling Ezra’s hands retract, “I don’t love you. No.”

Not Ezra smiles, undeterred by the proclamation. “Of course you do. You saw the way he looked at you.”

He remembers Ezra, the real Ezra, standing behind his graffitied motorcycle. The headlights and pitch shadows block the exact modicrums of his forlorn expression, but there is no mistaking it. Ezra looks at him with something more than friendship, maybe even worships Luke’s regard.

And yet, Ezra does not push. He does not press. He lets Luke leave. Why?

“Do you not see?” Not Ezra glows in the golden lamplights. “You didn’t like Hobbie because he would fall to his knees and spout poetry from the Romanticism era. He was too...obsessed.”

Luke roots to the spot a pace away from Not Ezra. The tuxedo should have tipped him off; he likes leather-jacket-wearing Ezra just fine, no alterations required.

“You don’t like Zare,” Not Ezra says gently, “because he won’t stop until he has bragging rights that you’re his. That, and, well,” he shrugs, “he’s an asshole.”

Luke does not smile.

“But you love Ezra,” Not Ezra murmurs, “because he did something that no other guy has done: become your friend.”

Is Luke really so weak? A guy becomes his friend and that is who he chooses to love?

“He cares about you,” Not Ezra insists, “and you know that he loves you too. He just doesn’t-”

“Want to tell me,” Luke finishes, “for the same reason I don’t want to tell him.”

Not Ezra nods. He steps back, away from the lamps and the garage. He turns around and fades into oblivion.

And a song trails into his ear. It tickles his skin and encapsulates him in darkness.

A ringing pierces into his awareness. He jolts up, awakening in his bedroom.

A bark of a laugh garners Luke’s attention. His head snaps towards the bedroom door, which he left ajar last night on accident.

Leia is fully dressed in a scarlet pencil skirt and tight white shirt with a sweetheart neckline cropped to her stomach. The front of her hair is weaved with plastic roses, the length free and long in the back.

She snickers at him. “What, were you having a wet dream or something?”

Luke scowls at her. He tears the sheets away from his form, swinging his legs towards the carpet, and stands unsteadily.

“If you can make yourself look presentable in fifteen minutes,” Leia says, “I’ll be genuinely surprised and call you a fashion wizard.”

Leia’s hair tosses over one shoulder as she leaves. Luke mutters a curse and gets to work primping himself before they have to drive to school.

Luke walks briskly to the closet and tears off the first clothing items on the hangar: khaki jodhpurs, a navy-cream striped sailor sweater, thick socks to account for the autumn chill, and beige boots with thick corded laces. Items in hand, he brings them inside the private bathroom adjoined to his bedroom. He works mechanically: washes and exfoliates his face, freshens up his hair to a soft downy fade, and applies powder blush for the sole purpose of showing up Leia. He dresses in his chosen outfit and does a twirl in the mirror to appreciate it.

And definitely not think about what Ezra would remark on it if they were not in different social circles at school.

Luke crosses over to his bed, sitting down with the boots. He laces them up in record strokes, then grabs his backpack, which he already filled with supplies he would need for midterms. He casts the knapsack over one shoulder and flips his shaggy bangs for effect.

He exits the bedroom and descends the marble staircase. Leia is struggling to keep her hair out of her eyes as she ties her Converse.

He reaches the foyer, the sound of his footsteps garnering her attention. She purses her lips at him and frowns, releasing her grip from the dysfunctional sneakers and standing upright.

“Good for you,” Leia rolls her eyes, “fashion wizard.”

Luke offers her a prideful smile. “Good luck charming your way out of midterms.”

He rips open the door with a harsh tug. He strides out of the Skywalker mansion, chuckling to himself at Leia’s, “screw you!”

/

-I know what you’re thinking-

-Why is Ezra texting me when he’s literally five desks behind me?-

-Well-

-I can tell you seem a little off today-

-And I just thought I would reassure you-

-That you’ve totally got this-

-Make midterms your bitch-

-Or maybe not your bitch-

-Your respectful partner-

-Or something-

-I don’t know-

-Ignore me now-

Luke bites the inside of his cheek. The wall of texts lights up his smartphone screen. He checks it underneath the desk and fights off a smile.

Miss Billaba enters the classroom. At her commanding presence, phones are tucked away and hands are clasped on desks. Her zero tolerance for bullshit is why she is Luke’s favorite teacher.

But as she meets his eyes above everyone else in the class, a jolt of fear strikes him.

“As the test is expected to take place for a half hour of a forty-five minute class,” Miss Billaba announces, “I will allow five minutes of study.”

Study materials shuffled as they are plopped on desks. Papers shift and pencils move. Students stare.

“Mister Skywalker,” Miss Billaba says, “might I speak to you outside?”

Luke’s heart thuds against his chest. His head screams curses and questions about what he could have done this time.

He swallows thickly and burns inside at the undivided attention. He forces himself to his feet, trailing past rows of desks. Students who would snicker in any class simply send side eyes, stunned into silence.

Miss Billaba ushers Luke into the hallway. She closes the door after giving students a glare to instruct them to study. Gazes cast down to books.

The classroom door is closed so no sound escapes through the cracks. Luke shakes in anticipation, clutching his hands behind his back to give an air of neutrality. His knuckles whiten at the strain of his own grip.

Miss Billaba faces him, her chocolate eyes softening. Her voice, normally strict and curt, lowers to a gentle cadence. “Mister Skywalker, I wanted to discuss personal matters.”

Luke says nothing. His stress level rises. He remains frozen in place in the hallway.

“I know that Miss Offee and Miss Tano are good friends of yours,” she says, “and they, as well as you, have been through an ordeal regarding the accident.”

Luke snorts and says dryly, “The Accident. How abstract. I’ll put it in capital letters.”

Miss Billaba glances down at him worriedly. “Something as traumatic as this...it changes people. Let’s face it: education doesn’t matter when your friends are suffering with very real problems.” 

Luke squints. He seeks out her point; adults talking about his life as if they could relate always put him on edge. They didn’t know the toll it takes to be the son of a famous heiress.

Miss Billaba senses that he is losing patience. “I want to offer you a passing grade on your midterm, regardless of your score.”

Luke’s mouth forms into an O. He can’t believe it. He can’t fucking believe-

His jaw clamps shut. He clenches his jaw. He takes a breath. He builds his wall brick-by-brick.

His eyes lift up to Miss Billaba’s uncertain expression. “No.”

Miss Billaba shifts uncomfortably at the power in his gaze. Luke wants to laugh humorlessly at her, probably would if he didn’t like her, but he did, so he holds his tongue this once.

“No,” Luke repeats, fanning the flames of his ire. He ensures his throat is clear as he measures out his syllables. “This is the only relatively normal thing in my life. I want to take this test and pass because I worked hard, not for anyone else, not because my Mom calls the principal to make sure I’m being a good boy, not because I’m a picture perfect model for the school, but for me. Me.” 

Miss Billaba nods once. Her lips purse and her gaze glistens with something akin to pride. It is more affirmation and praise than Luke receives from anyone else, so he straightens and matches the hard gaze with his own.

“You’re a good one,” Miss Billaba says, “don’t you dare lose that.”

Luke quirks a brow upwards. Miss Billaba never compliments her students save for a neutral “good” or “well done.”

Luke bobs his head. Miss Billaba turns back to the classroom door and tears it open. It pierces a room of uneasy silence that only Mister Windu is close enough to achieving with his demeanor.

He enters the classroom after Miss Billaba reaches her desk. As she gathers midterm prompts, Luke slides into his desk. 

He does not meet any eyes, least of all Ezra’s, as the test is distributed.

/

Luke rips into a strawberry Twizzler rope, legs dangling off the counter at Kenobi’s. Obi-Wan and Satine busy themselves in the storage room, so the front counter is left unattended. Considering no customers tended to arrive after school, Luke deems it safe to let his walls collapse.

It was difficult listening to every teacher offer to let his midterm grade slide; the whole school staff must have been alerted to treat them kindly. Luke refused to take the handouts each time. After the final test was taken for Mister Jinn’s class, he was proud of himself for knowing the answer to every question and accomplishing his goals without any adult help.

Ahsoka and Barriss complained about the same confrontations when they brought him to Kenobi’s, but then they skedaddled to a make out spot. Since they’ve been through more than any young couple should, Luke rolled his eyes and let them have their fun.

To Luke’s surprise, a motorcycle roars outside of the convenience store. He jolts upright and chews on the last of the strawberry rope in his hand. He leans over the cash register to gander at the front windows. A flash of neon splatters on a Jackson Pollock-inspired motorcycle has Luke both tense and relieved.

The motorcycle’s silence precedes worn boots squelching on the convenience store tile. A leather jacket and ripped jeans come into view, zipped up to account for the chill outside. A dreamwork tuxedo does not do him justice like the attire of a bad boy.

Luke grabs an unopened soda beside his pack of Twizzlers. He cracks open the top tab with his thumb. The fizz sings as he holds out the aluminum can. 

Careful hands sweep up the offering and hop onto the counter, legs dangling an inch away from Luke’s. 

“How did you know I would come?” He asks as he tips back the foam bubbling atop in the soda can.

Luke regards the Twizzlers, withholding from taking out another vine. “I figured you would,” he says carefully, “you care about people. And especially since, after what happened in Miss Billaba’s class,” his eyes swivel to meet Ezra’s, “I know your curiosity has been eating away at you.”

A corner of Ezra’s mouth upturns. His hand swirls the contents of the soda can. His gaze is soft as he murmurs, “Barriss told me.”

Luke frowns. A flash of Not Ezra bathed in fuschia permeates his mind. He blinks to disperse the imagery. “Oh.”

“I came to check on you of my own accord,” Ezra says airily, as if their immense weight is as light as a feather to him. “And I wanted to mention that the theater is playing a movie I haven’t seen yet.”

They hadn’t been to the movies lately! Luke perks up instantly, a grin lighting up his face. “And what movie would that be?”

“Uh,” Ezra blinks at the sudden change in mood, “Citizen Kane?”

Luke sucks in such a deep inhale that it comes out a choking gasp. His heart thumps in delight; this would be the perfect distraction from the dream!

His excitement is palpable as Ezra smiles hesitantly. “Uh, you okay there?”

Luke giggles like a child. He hops off the counter and turns, beaming up at Ezra. “I’m fantastic! Oh! There’s so much you have to know before you see this movie!” He jumps. “For example, did you know,” he grows giddy as Ezra looks down at him, “this movie is about the life of William Randolph Hearst, one of America’s first billionaires who ran a newspaper monopoly?”

Ezra absorbs the information behind sparkling eyes. “Really?” Ezra is affronted, but genuinely interested in a way no one else is with him.

Luke chatters on happily, “he’s the reason they have the term ‘yellow journalism.’” He laughs as he forms air quotes. He regains his enthusiastic tone. “And the guy who made this movie, Orson Welles, was very publicly critical of the way Hearst was choosing what information was allowed to be printed. So he made this movie! It’s remarkably clever,” Luke sways on his feet, “oh, you’ll see. You’ll see!”

Ezra studies him carefully. It is not a prying look, but it is so gentle that the world just might end anyway.

And with the beat of Luke’s heart, the look of appreciation is wiped away. Ezra smiles easily and hops off the counter too, soda can in hand.

“Well,” Ezra stands a breath away, “shall we?”

Luke nods. “We shall.”


	12. Choose your weapon, and let’s go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Zeb steps away, Ezra’s lungs collapse in a lengthy exhale. Zeb flicks at Ezra’s tight ponytail jokingly as if batting away a fly. Ezra claps his palm against his neck while Zeb snorts, “are you sure you’re ready for this, man?”
> 
> Ezra frowns over at him. He removes his hand from his hair, ensuring his ponytail is secure. Zeb is colossal in his own padded vest; he would be surprised if anyone dared to take a shot at him.
> 
> What is the point of lying? Ezra replies, “no.”
> 
> Zeb grumbles, “as expected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choose your weapon, and let’s go.  
> Who’s gonna beat this level?
> 
> -Alessia Cara, “Nintendo Game”

“Suck in your gut,” Zeb says.

Ezra shoots him a look before holding his breath. The thickly-padded vest tightens around his waistline. The straps and buckles press against his torso. Zeb moves to stiffen up the loose shape of the arm holes and shoulders. His large hands smooth down the vest, pulling down his lightweight clothes to adjust properly.

As Zeb steps away, Ezra’s lungs collapse in a lengthy exhale. Zeb flicks at Ezra’s tight ponytail jokingly as if batting away a fly. Ezra claps his palm against his neck while Zeb snorts, “are you sure you’re ready for this, man?”

Ezra frowns over at him. He removes his hand from his hair, ensuring his ponytail is secure. Zeb is colossal in his own padded vest; he would be surprised if anyone dared to take a shot at him.

What is the point of lying? Ezra replies, “no.”

Zeb grumbles, “as expected.”

The statement grates on Ezra. His teeth scrape against each other as he calms his emotions; he couldn’t boil over, not today.

Zeb glances at the shack entrance; it is one of four waypoints throughout the obstacle course. Kallus, Chewie, Han, and Zare were guarding the outside for sneak attacks, since nothing could be ruled out in this fight, while the women got ready at their own shack. It bothers Ezra that Barriss agreed to partake beside Sabine and Ketsu; Ahsoka chose the enemy’s side because Luke was there.

Imagining Luke in this fight made Ezra sick too.

Zeb meets Ezra’s eyes abruptly. “I know you care about them,” his voice is oddly gentle, “but worry about yourself.”

Ezra bristles; this is the last thing he expected to hear from Zeb.

“Besides,” Zeb walks to the table, picking out a paintball rifle, “I don’t want you getting taken out for not watching your six.”

Ezra swallows thickly as Zeb lifts his chosen weapon. “Is that your way of saying,” he fumbles at his usual quips, “I’m good at this game?”

“You know you are,” Zeb says, unimpressed. He crosses the interior of the woodchip shack in three bounds. He shadows the frame, waiting for him.

Ezra crosses the room. His eyes are cast down to the final weapon: a paintball pistol. He huffs at the weapon and slides it into his belt. It is weighty against the constrictive vest.

Heart in his throat, he meets Zeb in the frame of the shack. Zeb allows Ezra passage as he takes in the surroundings; sand traps, wooden obstructions, and random metal walls in the case of a fight. The obstacle course covers a sizable portion of land between their town and the next. Shacks are placed in the north and south quadrants, the west and east meant for restocking supplies; he’s sure there will be plenty of altercations in those areas.

The obstacle course, as far as Ezra can tell, is barren of any spies. Zare watches the left, Kallus watches the right. Chewie offers a smile from his position beside the shack entrance. Ezra cannot bring himself to smile back as Han materializes from behind the shack.

Light footsteps crackle against the sand. Ezra recognizes the sounds, so he does not flinch as the women approach from the right. Sabine leads them with narrowed eyes, assessing hiding spots for signs of movement. She lives for the fight, whether screaming into a megaphone at town hall or working her way around a battlefield. She even dyed her hair brown for the occasion, meant to blend in with their artless surroundings. Ketsu is just as stoic and analyzing beside her, war paint dragged across lines on her cheekbones. Barriss stumbles behind them in her hijab, folding her arms over her body vest. 

As Ezra notes Barriss does not have a weapon, Kallus asks, “are you really letting her go defenseless?”

Sabine scowls. “It was her choice.”

Ezra’s gaze slides over to Barriss in immense concern. Barriss approaches with an uneasy expression, choosing to stand beside him. He arches a brow. “We can’t protect you the whole time, Bear.”

Barriss looks between Ezra, Han, and Chewie. She snorts. “Three men can’t protect me? What good are you for, then?”

Ketsu snickers. She receives dirty looks from Han, Kallus, and Sabine. Ketsu playfully flips them the bird while her other hand clutches a paintball rifle.

“I just meant,” Ezra sighs, “you can’t hide the whole time. You won’t last that way.”

“I don’t care about lasting,” Barriss chimes with a misplaced grin, “I’m just happy to be playing.”

“It’s not a game to us, kid,” Kallus says sharply.

Ezra shoots daggers at him. “Shut up. She didn’t ask for this.”

“Lux asked for this,” Zare clips, “so none of us did.”

Ezra wants to scoff. Zare is such a two-faced liar. Ezra can’t believe he didn’t realize it sooner, and that it had to be Luke to tell him.

“Cool it,” Sabine orders, “all of you. We’re a united front. Circle up.”

Ezra remains beside Barriss as the group gathers outside of the shack. Sabine explains the plan, and Ezra drowns it all out.

He has his own agenda.

/

Han guides them to the east supply shack. Ezra keeps an arm behind him to shield Barriss. Chewie takes up the rear as the group of four zips past metal walls with panther steps. 

They broke away from the brunt of the fight as the air horn was blown. The scoreboard revealed more rich kids went down; only Kallus is out so far. It is a strategic move since Kallus is better at spying.

Han holds out a hand. Ezra freezes. Barriss knocks into his side before tensing up. Chewie soundlessly moves the barrel of his paintball rifle behind and to the exposed side of them.

Han glances at them over his shoulder. Firing sounds pierce the air by the east shack. They are followed by shouts. 

Ezra peers over the top of the low metal wall. Han ushers for Barriss to crouch with him and Chewie.

The shack doors burst open. Hobbie is red-faced as he stalks outside and turns in the opposite direction. His gelled hair flies as he aims towards a sand pit. “I know you’re in there!” His voice shakes with fear.

Lando exits the shack with paint splatter on his stomach. He mutters something to himself before leaving the obstacle course.

Sand crunches beside Ezra. He notes Han about to reveal himself. Ezra’s arm flies out and grabs the shoulder of Han’s vest. He clamps hard and tugs Han back with a hiss.

Han’s eyes sharpen towards Ezra. They narrow. He reads something in Ezra’s eyes and huffs, slackening his shoulders. Ezra slowly releases Han.

That gives Chewie just enough time to round the opposite side of the wall and fire a shot towards the sand pit. 

Hobbie whirls around to fire at Chewie. The ball of paint misses by a long shot.

Ketsu rises from the sand pit with her paintball gun aimed at Hobbie. She laughs, war paint covering her dirty face.

As Hobbie jumps at her appearance, three shots of paint land on his vest. He gasps as Ketsu winks at him. She meets Chewie’s gaze and rushes towards the center of the obstacle course, where the others hide. Ketsu trusts Chewie to take care of whoever is in the shack.

Ezra has the others wait a moment. Barriss presses herself against the metal wall and goes cross-eyed. Han ruffles around in the dirt, uncomfortable with staying still. Chewie signs to Ezra that he will check over the shack. He nods in agreement.

The doors burst open. Chewie freezes midway towards the shack.

It is Ahsoka. 

Ezra sighs in relief. He nudges Barriss, causing her to rise from her crouch. “Ahsoka.”

Her girlfriend’s name causes Barriss to stumble away from the metal wall without hesitation. Her eyes grow big beneath the hijab as she locks gazes with Ahsoka and beams.

Ezra steps away from their barrier, Han following him with furrowed brows. Chewie aims his paintball gun around the premises while Barriss rushes into a hug. Ahsoka nearly drops her twin paintball pistols as she returns the embrace. 

Since Han is the outsider in this situation, he hangs back awkwardly, deciding to take Chewie’s stance of canvassing the area. Ezra approaches the couple once Barriss steps away and allows Ahsoka to clip her paintball guns to a thick belt. Her maroon gear contrasts with her dreadlocks, adorned with eye-catching silver rings.

Ahsoka meets Ezra’s wide-eyed gaze. A brow quirks in amusement. “Is he really all you’re thinking about right now?”

Barriss hides a smirk while Ezra’s heart races. “N-no! No!” He squeaks, fumbling with his vest buckles to distract himself.

How did Ahsoka figure it out? Han made sense because they’ve been friends for years, but Ahsoka? 

Ahsoka hums, her gaze analyzing him heavily. Ezra suddenly cannot breathe under the weight of her calculated expression. This is the last thing he wanted to happen! If Luke’s best friend can read Ezra after only four months of knowing him, what has Luke seen that would compromise Ezra?

The prospect is too scary to think about.

“Well,” Ahsoka bats her lashes, “you’re not the first idiot to be caught in this position, though I will warn you, because I’ve decided that I like you,” Ezra observes her warily, “I’m not sure how he feels about you,” Ahsoka admits, “and he won’t tell me.”

Ezra frowns; if Ahsoka can’t read Luke, what hope does he have at getting any closer to him?

“Now,” Ahsoka takes Barriss’s hand and surveys the area, “Luke’s at the west supply shack. Lux and Leia insisted that he follow them and leave me here.”

So that’s where the final confrontation would occur. Ezra’s heart skips in apprehension.

“Are you ready to rescue him,” Ahsoka asks Ezra, “or do I have to do everything myself?”

Ezra cracks a smile.

/

“So, uh,” Han trips over a rock in the sand, “you’re Ahsoka, huh?”

Ezra and Chewie guide the rest of the pack across the area. So far, there have been no traps awaiting them.

“Yes?” Ahsoka says as Barriss and Han trail behind her. “And you’re Han. Duh. I already know you.”

Han flounders. “We’ve just never spoken before, that’s all. Never mind.”

Chewie holds up a hand. The pack freezes near a sand pit. They fall silent.

Sabine shouts in the direction of the west shack. Ezra’s heart thuds at the possibility of the rest of them getting there before he can intercept Luke.

But he is probably already too late.

Ahsoka breaks away from their formation, one paintball pistol in each hand. Before she crouches low and walks soundlessly away, she looks over her shoulder at Ezra. She arches a brow as a prompt.

Ezra turns to look between Han and Chewie. “Can you both handle watching Barriss without dying?”

Han rolls his eyes. “Ye of little faith.”

“For good reason,” Ezra quips.

Han sends him a playful scowl. “Shut up and go play prince to save Rapunzel. We’ll stay far enough away.”

Ezra does not retort the former statement and bobs his head once at the latter. He steps away from the group while he meets up with Ahsoka, drawing out his paintball pistol. It is cold against his hand, even with the weather being uncharacteristically warm.

Ahsoka leads them around several obstructions. They walk in synchronized strides as the shack comes into view.

Sabine’s voice soon pierces the air. “You’re the last ones left! Come out and surrender!”

Ezra hasn’t checked the scoreboard in a while. Sabine only used that voice if something happened to Ketsu. Or Zeb. Or both.

Ah, shit. Probably both.

This is definitely Zare’s doing. He somehow got Sabine to agree to take a last stand beside him before everything went sideways. Asshole.

Before Ezra could act foolish, Ahsoka touches his shoulder. He stills.

Her hardened eyes meet his. “Wait for an opening.”

Ezra nods in agreement. They walk towards the shack together. They halt when they catch Sabine’s form crouched behind a metal wall. Her paintball rifle is aimed over the obstruction as she awaits an answer. He catches sight of Zare to the west, prepared for a sneak attack.

Ahsoka motions for Ezra to follow. Curious, he trudges quietly to the east side. Ahsoka crouches and slides into a sand pit. Ezra hesitates, but decides to go for it. Sand buries his shoes, and he trips at a boulder on the bottom of the pit. The pit is chest-deep, the perfect height for spying.

The double doors of the shack creak open. After the sound is followed by silence, Sabine rises to her full height and advances.

There are shouts. Lux, Leia, Winter, and Mara charge out of the shack, armed with vests and paintball rifles. They fire unrelenting rounds at Sabine, splattering her entire front in a dilapidated rainbow.

They halt and laugh. Sabine growls and glares, her paintball gun dropping into the dirt.

“Paint that!” Winter chortles.

“Bitch,” Mara spits at her.

“Aw,” Zare’s voice has the group swiveling towards him, “that was kinda mean.”

Lux simply looks at him and arches a brow. “Do you want to tell her,” he raises his voice, “or should I?”

He nods at Leia. She aims her paintball rifle directly for Zare’s chest. Winter and Mara do the same, cruel smirks on their faces.

“What,” Sabine’s head snaps between Lux and Zare, “what is he talking about?”

The shack doors, which had snapped shut, burst open once again. The group turns towards the interruption.

A barrage of paintballs emit from a rifle. Green and blue bullets land on Lux, Leia, Winter, and Mara.

A figure clad entirely in black emerges. Ezra’s heart stops.

A smirk of satisfaction splits Luke’s face. His eyes, normally so bright and gentle, are framed with dark makeup fanning upwards. His eyes are full of mischief.

In another lightning-fast motion, Luke uses one arm to aim his paintball rifle towards Zare. He tilts his head to the side to regard him.

Luke’s gaze grows harsh, mouth forming into a critical line. “Why don’t you tell your friends, the people who took you in and made a home for you,” his voice is cold, “how you’ve been conspiring to destroy us all?”

Ezra feels it before he sees it. In response, he climbs out the sand pit. Ahsoka does not stop him, choosing to back him up instead. Other footsteps are behind them as well; Ezra does not have to glance to know it is Chewie, Han, and Barriss.

Zare backpedals when they approach in a wave of firepower. He is torn between running and staying in his spot.

He chooses neither option. He starts shooting.

Luke and Ezra duck down. A barrage of paintballs whizz past them. Ezra loses his footing on a rock protruding from the sand. Shadows cover him, sandy hands messily preventing a face-flattening.

He breathes heavily and finds a whisper of black. He grasps for it, holding onto the fabric of a turtleneck sweater beneath a padded vest.

They had crawled towards each other without realizing it. Skin flashes in front of Ezra’s downturned gaze. He forces his head up.

And here is Luke. Right here. An inch away from him. Makeup covers Luke in smoke, a dark fog of deception. Just as intended.

They lock eyes for a beat. Ezra catches his breath from the attack, studying every powdery iota of Luke’s cheeks. Ezra notes the pale pallor beneath blush, the lack of color, as if Luke were sick and needed to cover up his discomfort.

What else does Luke hide?

Luke sharpens his gaze after taking in Ezra. He braces himself, jaw clenching, and rises with his paintball rifle raised towards Zare.

Ezra gets up in a swoop that startles his limbs into action. He fumbles for his paintball pistol and turns around.

Han, Chewie, Barriss, and Ahsoka were splattered with paint on their vests. They gape in varying forms of disbelief. They look around at the coterie of faces who were emerging; it seems the entire contents of the game, rich and poor, were arriving to spectate at the final battle.

The overload of people sets Ezra on edge. His nerves quake and his senses shut down at the prospect of being stared at by everyone he knows.

Ezra takes a breath and stands beside Luke. He supports Luke by aiming his paintball pistol at Zare, who gulps at the pair teaming up against him. He pretends the audience isn’t there.

Ezra side eyes Luke. “The honor is yours.”

Luke is hesitant as his gaze darts between Ezra and Zare. “Are you sure?”

Ezra nods. “I know you wanna do it.”

Luke smiles back. “You’re right.” He chuckles and faces Zare. “I do.”

He pulls the trigger. A blue paintball splashes across Zare’s front. The close proximity of the blast has Zare step back at the impact. His grip loosens on his paintball gun, and it falls into the sand.

“You’re done,” Luke says to Zare with finality, “it’s over. Now leave me alone.”

His demand gives way to a softness as he faces Ezra again. Luke’s eyes sparkle and shine through the dark makeup, but it could be Ezra’s imagination.

Yeah, probably his imagination.

Luke unceremoniously drops his paintball rifle.

“What are you doing?!” Leia howls from a far-off sideline. 

Luke ignores his twin sister. He holds up his hands in surrender. He smiles at Ezra. “Shoot me. You win.”

A commotion occurs behind Ezra. He doesn’t care, though. The rustling and hissing mean it is being taken care of by whoever.

His heart races. His paintball pistol is heavy and cold. He cannot move as he stares at Luke, absorbing what Luke is asking of him.

“No,” Ezra says, “no.” Sand spills into his mouth. “I could hurt you.”

Luke snorts, “I can handle a bruise. Now come on.” He grabs for Ezra’s paintball pistol, lifting the barrel up and towards Luke’s chest. “Shoot me.”

Ezra swallows thickly. If he doesn’t, Luke would get angry. If Ezra turns the paintball gun on himself, Luke wouldn’t take the win. He has to do it. 

He pulls the trigger as if ripping off a band-aid. The adhesive burns and aches at him as green paint sprouts on Luke’s vest.

Ezra lowers the gun, squinting as if afraid he would get criticized for not warning him.

But Luke just smiles. “Wanna get ice cream on my Harley?”

Ezra’s heart thumps loud; he was going to ride on the back of Luke’s Harley Davidson. His mouth dries. He is pretty sure his skin has turned an ugly shade of red, but he prays his audience does not see or take Luke’s invitation the wrong way.

Ezra decides to clarify, “to secure our alliance and form a peace treaty, I would enjoy it.”

No one speaks. No one moves. 

And Ezra follows Luke as they leave the drama behind, pack away their paintball gear, and take a ride.


	13. All we do is think about the feelings that we hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bravely, Ezra lifts his eyes up to Luke. “We’re meant to be negotiating a peace treaty.” The reminder causes a sparkle to reach Luke’s dull eyes. “We need to come up with something to tell them.”
> 
> “How about neither side bothers the other?” Luke shrugs. “Like...we all live in a high school full of peace, love, and harmony?”
> 
> Ezra narrows his eyes. Luke cracks a smile.
> 
> “Hah,” Ezra says amusedly, “you almost got me there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All we do is drive,  
> All we do is think about the feelings that we hide,  
> All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign,  
> Sick and full of pride,  
> All we do is drive.
> 
> -Halsey, “Drive”

Ezra is surprised Luke doesn’t remark on the loud thud of his heart. He grips the edges of the motorcycle seat so hard while Luke drives that his knuckles whiten. 

Ezra trusts Luke despite his reckless driving style, but it is his own fluttering feelings he is worried about. His front is a half-inch from Luke’s back. He feels like a cartoon with its drawn heart bursting outwards as a firework.

A part of Ezra thinks Luke feels his nervous heartbeat, but Luke’s comfortable posture gives no indication of that being true.

The trip to Kenobi’s takes twice as long. Ezra closes his eyes, allowing the air to tickle his face and hair. He breathes, holding onto the motorcycle seat as Luke guides them to the abandoned land surrounding Kenobi’s convenience store.

The engine roars as Luke brakes them to a stop. The purr coaxes Ezra’s eyes open again. He sighs that the drive, while fast and reckless, was over so soon; enjoying the moment is something he rarely does in the driver’s seat, and there is a comfort in surrendering control. However, the lovelorn part of him is grateful when Luke parks and his overactive imagination grinds to a halt.

Luke rips the key from the ignition, kicking down the metal stand. As the engine dies down, he looks over his shoulder. Dark makeup circles his eyes, but his blue irises break through the noise. “You were quiet. Are you okay? I didn’t shake anything loose, did I?”

Ezra musters a half-smile. “I’m fine.”

Luke slides off the motorcycle seat, removing his helmet. The bucket slapped with random stickers reveals dented helmet hair as it is set on the handlebar. “Is there any particular reason your eyes were closed? Did my driving scare you that much?”

Ezra regards the tease in Luke’s tone. “No. I…”

Luke meets Ezra’s eyes again; a sheen of moisture has gathered on his bangs and forehead. “What?” 

The sweat glistens on Luke, tanning his complexion. Only Luke could sweat attractively. 

Goddammit.

“I won’t make fun of you or anything,” Luke says gently.

Ezra casts both legs over one side of the motorcycle. He lingers on the seat of the Harley Davidson. He parses out, “I just...liked the drive.”

Luke’s mouth upturns on one side. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Ezra blushes at the reminder of their roles reversed a few weeks ago. He rubs the back of his neck, pressing flyaway hairs down from his loosening ponytail. He clears his throat and flounders, “I didn’t know Kenobi’s had ice cream.”

Luke places a finger to his lips. “Obi hides it.”

“Right,” Ezra slides off the motorcycle seat, standing to his full height. “Let’s go, then.”

/

The last scoop of ice cream melts in the cup after sitting for too long. Ezra sloshes it around with a plastic spoon. They had not spoken since Satine sent them to the back room with an ice cream sundae. They are in comfortable silence, a silence that Ezra doesn’t want to break, but he has to do it. There was too much unsaid based on what happened in the obstacle course.

Ezra sets the plastic spoon inside the cup. “Are you gonna be okay at home?” He looks down at the melted ice cream so he does not have to see Luke’s face change.

“Um,” Luke hesitates, “yeah. My sister will,” he wavers, “get over it.”

Ezra doesn’t believe him. “Are you sure?”

Luke huffs, “I can take care of myself. I always have, Ezra.”

Ezra gulps at the all-too-familiar truth in that melancholic statement. Their reputations meant they were supposed to be polar opposites, but the only separation between them was money. Whether one had it and the other didn’t, though, the same pain reflects on both sides.

Bravely, Ezra lifts his eyes up to Luke. “We’re meant to be negotiating a peace treaty.” The reminder causes a sparkle to reach Luke’s dull eyes. “We need to come up with something to tell them.”

“How about neither side bothers the other?” Luke shrugs. “Like...we all live in a high school full of peace, love, and harmony?”

Ezra narrows his eyes. Luke cracks a smile.

“Hah,” Ezra says amusedly, “you almost got me there.”

“What I’m getting at is,” Luke uses his elbow to prop up a cheek on his hand, “there are penalties for one group messing with the other.”

“Penalties,” Ezra sounds out, “like what?”

“I don’t know,” Luke’s tilted head studies him, “you’re the prankster.”

Ezra lights up at the title. This is familiar territory for him, and he wades in the comfort for all it’s worth.

“I can prank everyone in the house easy enough,” Ezra says slowly while he thinks about it, “but there’s not much I can do about your people save for messing up their lockers at school.”

“You can unlock anything at school, can’t you?”

“Han got keys imprinted and made in our sophomore year.”

Luke scoffs, “of course you’ve been breaking into the school for two years. That’s how you filled Winter’s locker with rainbow slinkies when she rejected Han.”

“Mhm,” Ezra remembers that incident fondly, “but we need more than pranks. We need to make sure they don’t get too crazy.”

“Like a watchdog system?” Luke wonders.

Ezra snaps his fingers. “Yeah!” He beams at the idea. “Neutral parties from the outside that everyone has classes with to spy.”

“‘Spy’ isn’t the right word,” Luke observes, “but essentially, yes.”

“Who can you think of that would help?” Ezra asks. “Even Lando chose a side.”

There is a silence. Ezra remembers the Halloween party. He was confronted by someone. Who?

“Jai and Aphra,” Luke blurts.

Aphra! She bothered Ezra and his foster siblings because she treated their hijinks like it was a secret club, something to aspire to. Aphra desperately wanted to be one of them, but she doesn’t know their backstories; she wouldn’t want to be a foster kid.

And Jai was kind to both sides, neither for nor against them. He comes from an average middle class family, so there wasn’t much beef with him.

“Yeah,” Ezra bobs his head, “that’ll work.”

Luke musters an uneasy smile. “What could go wrong, right?”

Ezra hums.

/

“-sure she’ll be back soon,” Luke waves off a concerned Satine and Obi-Wan as they exit the convenience store, “you know how she gets with Barriss.”

The door closes. Ezra pretends that the owners of Kenobi’s aren’t staring at him as he sits on Luke’s Harley Davidson.

Aphra and Jai, with two quick phone calls from Luke, agreed to be their spies. Lux, as well, is amenable to putting the whole thing behind him, admitting that he didn’t want the conflict to escalate as much as it did. That put the blame, then, on Leia and Zare.

Luke pops on his helmet and buckles the straps in place. “I don’t have to take you back right away, you know.” Luke doesn’t look at Ezra while he says it, realigning his crooked handlebar. 

Ezra bites his lip to beat down a blush. Luke was being quite bold today. First, he betrays his own sister and her friends. Then, he takes his revenge with Zare. And now, they were going to cruise around after having ice cream together? 

Ezra must wear a shocked expression, because Luke emits a melodious laugh. It starts in a bark, then grows gentle and bubbly, its very own song. 

Gorgeous.

“If you need time to think about what you’re gonna say to them, I mean,” Luke amends in amusement.

Ezra frowns. He knows it’ll be hard to deliver the news, but that’s not the problem. The hesitation is on Luke’s part, not Ezra’s. Luke is afraid. Apprehensive, rather, for what awaits him at home.

Luke falters at Ezra’s calculations; the smoky makeup worsens his melancholic expression. “You okay?”

Ezra presses on, presses further, even though his doubtful mind cautions against it. “Are you sure you can handle Leia?”

The name of Luke’s sister has him casting his gaze downwards. His helmet inclines as he observes the front wheel of his motorcycle. 

With his lips pressed into a thin line, Luke admits, “she’ll give me shit for a while, but it’s nothing I haven’t gone through with her before.”

Ezra purses his lips. There’s so much he wants to ask at this moment. How could twins be so different? Why weren’t they close? Why didn’t Luke mention her? But he holds his tongue. It’s none of his business, anyway. Luke didn’t exactly go around asking about the skeletons in Ezra’s closet. He had three of them, in fact!

When Ezra does not say anything else, accepting Luke’s answer, Luke casts one leg over the opposite side of the Harley. He lowers himself onto the front of the seat. Once again, Ezra’s breath catches at the half-inch proximity between his front and Luke’s back.

The topic of conversation is wiped away with a casual smile over Luke’s shoulder. “Wanna take the long way home?”

A side of Ezra’s mouth quirks upwards, betraying the conflicted emotions brewing within him. The longer he stays on this motorcycle, the more he won’t want it to ever end. And then, he will want what he can’t have.

But fuck it. His actions already indicated that he wants a joyride. Luke bobs his helmet and twists the key in the ignition.

The engine roars, and Ezra lets it drown out his traitorous thoughts.

/

Ezra slides uneasily away from the Harley Davidson. The motorcycle engine rumbles as Luke’s grip eases on the handlebars. 

He stands and sighs at the looming foster home. Cars and motorcycles and Han’s shitty van were parked in the expansive driveway. 

He delayed too long, but he was not sorry. He delighted in it, reveled in it. They would never know the real Luke, and it was a crying shame. Ezra had what no one else did: Luke’s trust. In it was a surrender, but he would fall to his knees any day for an inkling of Luke’s positive regard.

Love makes him sick, scared, and stupid. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a single shit, even if it’ll never happen.

Ezra smiles at Luke, raising his voice over the engine. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime,” Luke says. And he means it.

Luke presses on the gas pedal and zooms away. Ezra doesn’t watch him go.

In a sharp movement of his heel completing a swivel, Ezra erased the bubbling emotions from his facial expression. They were watching through the windows. He walks to the entrance, ascending to the porch.

The front doors are wrenched open. He blinks in surprise.

Sabine’s calculated expression squints at him. “So?”

Ezra holds out his palms. “I didn’t do anything, Miss Officer, ma’am.”

Sabine scowls. Her arm flies out to yank him inside. Her grip on his palm tugs hard, and he loses his balance through the threshold.

“Ow!” Ezra says pointedly.

Sabine releases her grip. “Start talking.”

Ezra sweeps his gaze away from Sabine. The staircase contained Ketsu, Kallus, Zeb, Han, Chewie, Barriss, and Ahsoka. Hera and Kanan peek in from the swinging kitchen door. Zare had his arms folded, face downturned at the balcony; he hides behind the bars as if expecting someone to contract claws and maul him.

Good.

Ezra explains concisely, “it’s over, Sabine. Both sides are done fighting. Your babysitters are Aphra and Jai. Any future altercations will have punishments.”

“Punishments,” Sabine scoffs, crossing her arms, “what kind of punishments?”

“I wonder,” Ezra workshops, “what would happen if I mixed your hair dyes and shampoos?” He quirks a brow. “Would it be permanent?”

Sabine backpedals in shock. Her mouth freezes in a gape. “What,” she recovers slowly, “who the fuck even are you anymore?”

She’s railing against it. Against him. They never cease to astound Ezra.

Ezra counters Sabine with a long stare. “A rational and semi-intelligent human being.” His tone takes on a thick layer of ice. “Who the fuck are you?”

Sabine does not have a retort. There is none.

Ezra steps past her, tilting his head upwards. Zare’s gaze expresses just the right amount of fear for the sick part of Ezra to applaud voraciously.

Ezra smirks up at Zare from the balcony. “If you hurt my friend ever again,” Ezra enunciates, “you better watch yourself.”

The protests about calling Luke a friend never come. They hardly spoke his name around the house, not since Barriss’s outburst at the dinner table.

Ezra enjoys the pointed silence. He avoids any attempts to meet his eyes. He stalks right into the kitchen.

Kanan and Hera stiffen with their backs facing towards the sink. They were preparing vegetables for a dinner salad. The comforting smells cause Ezra’s entire body to sigh in relief.

He advances, rolling up his shirtsleeves. He makes his voice light. “May I help with dinner tonight?”

A rebuttal for the argument they eavesdropped on is in Hera’s eyes, a purposeful glint, but something halts her. Kanan’s milky eyes are cast in Ezra’s direction as well, but he doesn’t speak; it is Hera’s decision.

Hera softens, to Ezra’s surprise. Her profile nods over her shoulder. “Carrots are on the counter.”

Ezra strides towards the kitchen island. A cutting board containing a knife and a bushel of carrots lies ready.

He sighs as he takes the dull knife, slackens his shoulders, and enjoys the monotony of his task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s so simple but we can’t stay,  
> Overanalyze again, would it really kill you if we kissed?
> 
> -Halsey, “Drive”


	14. The electronics of your heart, see how fast they fall apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke opens the door to the Skywalker mansion. It is silent. The blinds are drawn. The lamps do not emit light. Mom and Dad are not back from the car dealership yet. The only car in the driveway is Leia’s Barbie pink convertible.
> 
> But there are no sounds anywhere. He trains his ear in the foyer, searching for an echo, but he comes up with nothing.
> 
> That’s never good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The electronics of your heart,  
> See how fast they fall apart.  
> It feels better biting down.
> 
> -Lorde, “Biting Down”

Luke opens the door to the Skywalker mansion. It is silent. The blinds are drawn. The lamps do not emit light. Mom and Dad are not back from the car dealership yet. The only car in the driveway is Leia’s Barbie pink convertible.

But there are no sounds anywhere. He trains his ear in the foyer, searching for an echo, but he comes up with nothing.

That’s never good.

Since Luke has nothing to lose, he calls out, “LEIA?”

After a moment, the echo bouncing between hallways and walls, a bottle sloshing is heard.

Oh shit.

“Mmm,” Luke’s head snaps towards Leia, who enters from the kitchen, “look who it is.”

A half-empty wine bottle dangles between her fingers. The glass knocks clumsily against the archway. Leia’s body rocks, her feet unsteady as she struggles to balance herself. Her hair, previously in a long braid, is a tangled nest reaching the small of her back. It frames a shadowed face, her chocolate brown eyes sunken and hollow. Her paintball outfit was discarded for yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt.

Luke swallows thickly. “Leia,” he sounds out in a broken whisper, “are you okay?”

Leia laughs like a hyena. She throws her head back, the loudness knifing the barriers and assaulting Luke’s eardrums. Leia gargles at the end of her chortle. He winces.

“Oh,” Leia holds out the bottle, “a toast to your humor.” Her arm arches up, raising the neck of the bottle to her lips. She gets a good gulp down before letting the bottle brush dangerously close to the floor.

Luke is too startled to do anything, like ease the bottle out of her loose grip. That would be the smart plan of action, but he is frozen. 

Leia’s eyes glitter cruelly. “Why would you concede the win to a bunch of ungrateful lowlifes?”

Luke clenches his jaw. He can’t rebuke her, not while she’s like this, not in this state. He has to play it safe.

“What they did at the Halloween party was horrible,” Luke placates, “but we shouldn’t stoop to their level.”

Leia scoffs, jerking the bottle in her hand. “Is that what you tell yourself in the mirror to feel better?” She steps closer, swaying as she gets in Luke’s face. “What’s the real reason?”

Luke wrinkles his nose at the pungent smell of alcohol on her breath. A laugh at the reaction lingers in Leia’s humorless eyes.

She’s drunk. She wouldn’t remember anything he told her. He smiles inwardly; perhaps he can trust his twin with the truth, after all.

He feels like rolling the dice. Playing the odds.

Luke breathes, “I did it because I’m in love with a boy. You may have heard of him. Ezra Bridger?”

Speaking his name aloud does something for Luke. Something good. It heals him, relieves him. He can confess his love indirectly without any consequences. What a rush!

The realization warms him. Delights him. He finally said it. He said it, and he can put it away. He never has to say it to Ezra. Luke admitted it to himself, and that is enough.

There is a vacancy in Leia’s eyes. It emboldens Luke. If he’s going to lift the lid to Pandora’s Box, he might as well open it all the way.

“He’s unlike anyone in the whole world,” Luke murmurs to her, “he looks at me like no one else. He sees me, and he doesn’t judge me. He smiles at me, and my heart skips. He’s genuine, and real, and so full of life that I want nothing more than to forget everything, the drama, the fame, the fortune, everything,” he enunciates, “and let him whisk me away into a fabricated Disney sunset.”

Leia blinks. And she burps in his face.

Luke sighs, swatting away the stink. Leia arches back and laughs.

As expected, Leia wouldn’t remember what he said. Luke feels freer than he has a long time.

But now, it’s time to deal with Leia.

“Okay,” Luke holds a hand on each of her shoulders, causing her to stand still, “you need to drink water before Mom and Dad get home. You don’t want them to see you like this, do you?”

Leia listens to that. Whatever lucidity she has left encroaches her vision, recognizing her situation.

Luke bends over. She allows him to raise up her arm. Luke’s hand wraps around the bottle neck. Leia’s grip gives way to his, and Luke takes the wine bottle from her.

If Mom and Dad found out, Luke was afraid of what they would do to her. Leia could usually keep it under control, but the paintball war led to a serious lapse in judgement. Luke would have his work cut out for him in the next two hours if he wanted to help Leia maintain the ruse.

Luke ushers Leia back into the kitchen. He sets the wine bottle on the countertop. Leia does not make to lunge for it, which she’s done before, so Luke grows uneasy. Is she more conscious than he gave her credit for when he confessed?

He wouldn’t worry about that right now.

He keeps an eye on her in his peripherals. He opens the refrigerator and procures a glass water bottle. It contained a half-gallon of cold water with recently-refreshed ice cubes. 

His skin freezes with glass perspiration as he removes it from the refrigerator. He clenches his teeth to prevent a shiver and goosebumps on his arms. He sets it down on the counter as quickly as possible, the refrigerator door clapping shut behind him.

Luke rips open the sealed plastic stopper. He sighs at a cracked fingernail but shakes it off. He leaves the lid on the countertop and slides the half-gallon to Leia’s side of the kitchen island.

“Drink it all,” he says.

Leia blinks dumbly between Luke and the water. “What?”

“In the next two hours,” Luke orders, “you have to drink this entire jug of water to flush the wine out.”

Leia stares at the glass water bottle warily. Her lip juts out in a pout. The movement verbalizes a silent whine, a foot-stomping tantrum.

Luke busies himself by grasping the leftover wine in the bottle. He drains it in the sink, but not before downing a quick swig to get him through the bullshit known as family dinner. He watches the crimson liquid swirl the drain, pretending he doesn’t hear Leia’s whimper at expensive wine being wasted.

The same as every other time this happens, Luke can only hope that Mom or Dad don’t notice a wine bottle missing. Due to the expansive wine cellar below them, Luke figures he can flip a coin and assume their parents won’t realize it’s gone.

The glass water bottle scrapes against the countertop. He registers it as Leia picking it up and starting to drink the water.

Luke turns on the sink to wash away evidence of the wine. He cleans the bottle before discarding it at the bottom of the trash bag. There was a party at the Skywalker mansion recently, so it could pass as remnants of his Mom’s latest gathering.

After sifting through disgusting trash to conceal the wine bottle, he scrubs his hands. As he towels off, he looks over and sees that Leia is nursing the glass water bottle. She had gotten it halfway down, so Luke considers it a victory.

Leia walks aimlessly into the sitting room. She swings around the glass water bottle as she plops unceremoniously on the maroon leather couch. Luke follows her but gives her plenty of space to move around, settling in the lounge chair.

Leia’s eyes are glassy when she glances over at Luke. “Why do you help me even when I’m a bitch to you?”

She’s reached the moping vulnerable phase of her alcoholism quite early. Luke is glad of it, though; a blubbering Leia at the dinner table is much less appealing to him.

Luke sighs, “you’re not a bitch, Leia.”

“I’m a bitch,” Leia insists, “I know I’m a fucking bitch. And I know you’re just being a sweetheart and lying to make me feel better like always.”

Luke shrugs. “So what if you’re a bitch? You’re still my sister.”

Leia pulls up her legs, settling them on the cushion sideways. Leia takes sips from the glass water bottle, swirling the liquid as it perches on her thighs. After a moment, she stares inside the bottle and exhales, “just because we shared the same womb for nine months doesn’t mean you have an obligation to help me.”

“That’s you saying that,” Luke clarifies, “not me.”

Leia swigs water, curling a curtain of hair over her ear. “I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know why you help me. No one else does. Not Winter. Not Mara. Not Lux. I mean...hell...I would have given up on me.”

“Don’t say that,” Luke winces, “I’ll always be here for you when you need me, okay? Just accept it.”

Leia frowns at the glass water bottle, then directly at him. She doesn’t reply, choosing to guzzle down more of her water.

They sit in silence until the water is replaced, Leia is sobered up, and their parents arrive home.

/

A hand waves in front of Luke’s breakfast plate. He bats his lashes tiredly at the sharp movement, lifting his gaze towards Dad across from him. He blinks at attention.

“Your phone is,” Dad furrows his brows at Mom, “what do the kids say these days?”

“Blowing up?” Mom supplies.

“Yes,” Dad fixates on Luke, “your phone has been ‘blowing up’ for five minutes now, and you haven’t noticed. You okay, buddy?”

A hungover Leia, who somehow looks the same as a sober Leia, examines him with interest. Luke never got to probe if she remembered his confession from yesterday, but he thinks it’s better if he doesn’t know at this point.

Luke reaches for the smartphone in his jeans pocket. The screen lights up with texts from Ezra.

-I know it’s Sunday and all-

-But-

-I need a favor?-

-Well-

-Not really a favor-

-An ask-

-Yes-

-So-

-Han’s mother wants to make Christmas cookies for the foster home-

-But she doesn’t feel good-

-And she left it up to Han-

-And he called me to help-

-But I’ve never made this recipe-

-Do you know how to make sugar cookies?-

-Because I don’t-

-Can you help please?-

-We’re at Han’s house today-

-So let me know-

-Please?-

Luke doesn’t want to go anywhere today, as he was hardly dressed to his usual caliber of fashion, but when did that matter to Ezra? Sneakers, jeans, and a blue sweater would be enough, especially if he was going to get messy.

His entire family waits expectantly for what the texts read. He holds his breath and searches for the most adequate lie that he can fish from his exhausted Sunday morning brain.

He exhales to them, “Ahsoka is asking if I want to help make sugar cookies for Barriss, f-for the,” they heard what happened to her, but Luke’s voice lowers and falters for effect, “kids in the foster home she’s staying in? Do I have to be anywhere today?”

Dad smiles. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.” He turns to the head of their household. “What do we think, Mom?”

Mom nods curtly. “I wish you two would do charity outside of the holidays, but this is a great opportunity for you, Luke.”

Luke grimaces inwardly. Does Mom have to look at charity so mechanically? He knows that she genuinely cares about underprivileged people, but the fact she sees it as a form of publicity sickens him.

Luke looks at his open messenger screen and texts back:

-I’ll be there in a half hour.-

Ezra replies to the speed of sound:

-Thank you so much!-

-I appreciate you vehemently-

Luke bites down a smile and chimes to his prying family, “it’s settled, then.”

Leia purses her lips at him suspiciously. She knows he’s lying.

But that’s a problem for another day. Luke clears his throat, ducking his head as he rises. He quickly cleans his dishes and breakfast crumbs, escaping with swiftness.

/

Luke knocks with purpose. Han’s house is a couple blocks away from the foster home, so it wasn’t hard to find based on Ezra’s Google Map directions. From the exterior, it is one story with a handful of rooms. His guess is lower class based on the way leashed dogs bark viciously behind chain link fences and children play with secondhand dirty toys on the sidewalk.

The door opens. Ezra, clad in his usual dark clothing and leather jacket, beams at his arrival. “Oh thank god,” he sighs as he holds the door for Luke to enter, “Han was about to burn the place down.”

“Hey,” Han calls from an inlet kitchen, “screw you, buddy!”

Luke takes in a plastic pink couch, old TV set, and musty carpets. The living room is about ten paces long, giving way to a hall with four rooms. The front door closes.

The kitchen is to the right, so Ezra guides Luke to the space. There is a refrigerator, a sink with very little counter space, and an island splitting the kitchen from the living room.

Han is covered in various ingredients as if they exploded all over him. He smiles sheepishly at Luke. “Well this is embarrassing.”

Luke has seen worse, so he simply steps into the kitchen and observes the mess. He rolls up his sleeves; he rarely gets to go into baking mode, so he’s excited about this particular challenge.

“Get all the ingredients in the recipe on the counter,” Luke says. “We’re starting again.”

Han responds to the veiled order. Luke examines the printed recipe. He then discards what he can either in the trash or the kitchen sink to be washed.

Ezra busies himself with lining up the ingredients in the order of the instructions. Without prompting, Ezra sifts through the drawers for mixing materials, measuring cups, and mixing bowls. He gets them out on the kitchen island, Han blinking between the duo conquering the domain.

Ezra must be experienced at baking. More than Luke was expecting. His stomach swoops, revelling at the new knowledge.

Luke evens out a wavering tone as he says, “we need to follow the measurements closely.”

“You’re one of those, huh?” Ezra teases, his lip upturned in the corner. 

He peels up the sleeves of his leather jacket, revealing marker drawings on his lower arms. The placement of numbers scrawled with captions means it is a calendar; how could Luke not have noticed one of Ezra’s odd quirks before?

Luke ducks his head as if being caught stealing. “I just,” he fumbles, “like order, that’s all.”

“This house could use that,” Han says, breaking whatever moment that Luke and Ezra were about to have. 

Rather than daydream, Luke reads the instructions. He searches for the correct measuring cups and preps the dry ingredients to distract his mind. 

He dives into the task, relaying orders to both Han and Ezra. They ruffle around the small kitchen, and Luke gets to work.

When the sugar cookies come out perfect, Luke pretends he doesn’t see Ezra’s grin cast in his direction.


	15. I’m goin’ down, let me drown over you, livin’ in my dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hand comes to touch his shoulder. He realizes he is tense, wound up tight. He grits his teeth and observes who enters the sink space in his peripheral vision.
> 
> He slackens his posture. He shakes off the squeaky clean dinner plate in his hands, water streaking across the metal bottom.
> 
> Miss Billaba’s lips downturn in an unbecoming frown. Her glossy dark brown hair is in a braided coil to reveal the high cheekbones of her makeup-free face. Chocolate eyes wear a concerned sheen, sticking out amongst a conservative poinsettia dress.
> 
> “Are you alright, Luke?” She asks gently. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for a minute now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m goin’ down ‘cause I know that it’s you I see in my dreams.  
> I’m goin’ down, let me drown over you, livin’ in my dreams.
> 
> -Ella Mai, “Not Another Love Song”

Luke arranges platters on his designated counter space in the kitchen. He was not allowed to interfere with the hired chefs and waiters when Mom has caterers at the mansion. He would rather hide in this space all day if cooks were not making a gourmet feast. 

Mom went out of her way for this party, in fact, to hire cooks that do not celebrate Christmas so they wouldn’t miss out on family time. Luke takes full credit for the idea even though Mom marketed it as her own.

Luke sets the last decorative lettuce leaf on the shrimp platter with miniature cups of dipping sauce. His latex gloves smooth down the leafy veins to lace the glass platter in the shape of a Christmas tree.

Familiar heels clack and enter the kitchen archway. Luke smooths down his tame formal tuxedo, decorated with a poinsettia lapel to distinguish him as an heiress’s son. The waitstaff stands at attention for their boss’s arrival.

Mom wears a floor-length red gown paired with dark lipstick, golden jewelry on her neck and wrists. Her undone hair is crimped and pushed away from her delicate face by a spiked golden headband. Her cheeks are powdered with too much pink blush on her pale skin, but brings out her beauty marks.

Luke drowns out Mom’s usual speeches and stares into space. He isn’t sure how he’s even made it this far through the day without an incident. He’s always bound to storm out or dole out his quick-tempered words, but he’s getting closer to the end by the minute. He just has to sit through dinner, make small talk with the teachers who Mom invited from school, and stop Leia from outing herself as an alcoholic.

Just thinking about what he would have to achieve makes him already want to start drinking.

The waitstaff shifts in blurs around him. Mom sends him a pointed look. He peels off his latex gloves, discards them in a nearby bin, and goes to her side. The obedient little golden retriever, as he was expected to be on these nights.

He follows Mom wordlessly to the dining room. The waitstaff had spent hours formulating and setting the dining table, shining the crystal chandelier and ensuring no specks were on the cutlery. 

Guests mull around in their various Christmas finery, sipping cocktails and munching on bite-sized appetizers. Luke picks out almost every staff member and teacher from school in attendance, some solo, some with significant others or their own children. Leia speaks with Principal Mothma, and based on her pout, she is asking for leniency with her education. Investors and coworkers that Luke recognized vaguely from Mom’s auto dealership are also here. No journalists, thankfully; Luke is grateful for miracles.

Mom passes him up in her stride, and he halts near the head of the table. Mom sits there. As the firstborn, he was expected to take his place next to her.

Somehow, Mom procures a champagne flute and a fork. She creates a reverberating sound between metal and glass. The conversations simmer to an echoing silence.

Mom begins her performance, and Luke plops in his seat, downing a passing offer of golden fizzy champagne before she or her captive audience notices.

/

He doesn’t know how, but he does it. He puts on his mask, smiles at who he is told to, and deters Leia from drinking a single drop the entire night. Sure, he drinks enough for the both of them, but what’s important is that his sister is getting better, albeit slowly.

As a treat to himself, Luke aids the waitstaff in clearing away dishes after dessert is consumed. The newer hires raise brows at his behavior, how he removes his suit jacket and rolls up his dress sleeves to scrub grime, but the staff who have been working for their family for years are used to it.

“This,” the head chef mutters to a green-gilled waitress, “is a boy who will become a better man than his parents.”

Luke never took stock in their compliments. He isn’t sure if he believed them, anyway. They could be saying that because they know he hears them if he pays attention.

He enjoys the monotony of simply washing and scrubbing, washing and scrubbing, washing and scrubbing. There wasn’t much that could go wrong when he was just washing and scrubbing. It is a form of peace, like when he cleans his Harley Davidson. Washing and scrubbing.

He wonders what Ezra is doing. No. Washing and scrubbing. Luke is washing and scrubbing.

Obi-Wan and Satine were meant to bring Ahsoka to the foster home for Christmas to be with Barriss. While Barriss technically doesn’t celebrate the holiday, and in fact, half of the contents of the foster home didn’t, it was a sentimental placeholder. 

Luke wonders what’s going on over there tonight. He wonders if they dress up or not. Or if Ezra dresses up.

Washing and scrubbing and washing and scrubbing. Wash and scrub! He needs to wash and scrub!

So he continues washing and scrubbing. Washing and scrubbing. Washing and scrubbing. Washing and scrubbing.

He couldn’t get last night’s movie out of his head. Ezra insisted on paying for the theater tickets as a Christmas gift. Luke had brought him a collection of bracelets threaded with the colors of the rainbow. He doesn’t know what possessed him to do it, buy the trinkets hanging behind the counter at Kenobi’s, but Ezra liked it. Luke brought him to see the Sound of Music on Christmas Eve. Ezra dismissed it as a chick flick but Luke persuaded him that it, in fact, is about the successful oppression of a peaceful country torn apart by war. That piqued Ezra’s interest well enough to agree to sit in a movie theater with him on Christmas Eve night for three hours. Three hours.

Dammit. Wash and scrub. Luke washes and scrubs harder. Washing and scrubbing and washing and scrubbing. And. Washing. And. Scrubbing.

Washing and scrubbing and thinking about Ezra and washing and scrubbing while thinking about Ezra’s grin and laugh and pretty face and-

Washing and scrubbing. Washing and scrubbing dishes. Luke is washing and scrubbing dishes.

A hand comes to touch his shoulder. He realizes he is tense, wound up tight. He grits his teeth and observes who enters the sink space in his peripheral vision.

He slackens his posture. He shakes off the squeaky clean dinner plate in his hands, water streaking across the metal bottom.

Miss Billaba’s lips downturn in an unbecoming frown. Her glossy dark brown hair is in a braided coil to reveal the high cheekbones of her makeup-free face. Chocolate eyes wear a concerned sheen, sticking out amongst a conservative poinsettia dress.

“Are you alright, Luke?” She asks gently. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for a minute now.”

Luke exhales deeply through his nose. He sets the clean dish in the heaping rack with dripping plates. He wrings out his bubbling soaked hands and flicks off the sink. As he is turned away from her, he answers, “I’m sorry, ma’am. What is it that you wanted to say?”

He towels off his hands and keeps his expression cast downwards for several beats.

“We’re all worried about you,” Miss Billaba says. “Since the start of this school year, you haven’t been acting yourself. Your grades are slipping. You’re not as passionate as you used to be about education. You seem unaffected by everything and everyone. It worries us.”

Luke received a similar talk from Principal Mothma at the beginning of the school year. This, though, is different. Miss Billaba cares. Genuinely cares about her students. She says this because she’s concerned for him.

And isn’t that insane? Luke didn’t realize he was sending out a cry for help, but a guardian was here anyway.

He replays her exact words, and he trips up on the last sentence. He verbalizes a dumb, “who’s ‘us’?”

Miss Billaba smiles wanly. She nudges her head over her shoulder. Luke follows her movement, dropping the hand towel somewhere.

When he makes a full turn, back resting against the sink, he blinks. The waitstaff cleared out silently, leaving Luke’s teachers in their wake. In addition to Miss Billaba, there is Miss Unduli, Mister Windu, Mister Jinn, Mister Fisto, and Miss Secura.

Luke clams up. “I-I’m fine.”

“Listen here,” Mister Windu says with his perpetually-annoyed expression, “you may be a rich boy, but you can’t buy away your problems forever.”

Miss Secura shoots him a dirty look before turning her attention to Luke, wearing a gentle smile. “What he’s trying to say is that being rich doesn’t make your problems go away. You’re the same as anyone else in that regard.”

“So,” Miss Unduli folds her arms and keeps her normally-critical gaze light, “you want to become an engineer, yes?”

Luke forgot that he told her that. She was his math teacher, though, so he should have remembered. He bobs his head in affirmation.

“If you can solve calculus problems,” she says, “you should be able to solve anything.”

Luke frowns; it makes sense logically, but the prospect is daunting when emotions are factored into the equation. “I wish it were that easy.”

“Explain it step-by-step,” Miss Unduli advises.

He can’t believe he’s going to do this, that this is seriously about to happen. But there is no avoiding a mob of teachers in the kitchen.

He takes a breath. “In this age of our collective discontent, mine is a story that’s been told over and over. To put it simply, I am tired.”

Miss Unduli raises an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

So he says, “I am tired of the life that I got no say in choosing. I want something for myself.”

They are unmoved.

“See?” Luke smiles. “Nothing new here, right?”

Mister Jinn squints at him. “There’s more to it than that.”

Luke shrugs. “Not really.”

“You’re lying,” Mister Fisto states.

“Hm,” Luke tilts his head to the side, inwardly sounding the alarms, “fine.”

The snap decision would have ramifications if this ever got out, but he doesn’t care. This particular secret is better than revealing any of the rest combined.

“Something for myself,” Luke says, “really means someone.” He throws up his hands. “Again, nothing to see here.” He claps his hands against his sides and doesn’t look at them, fixating on the kitchen door behind Mister Windu instead.

“Aw,” Miss Secura coos, “he’s lovesick.”

Miss Billaba frowns beside Luke. “That’s an easy fix, isn’t it?”

Luke furrows his brows at her, “did you forget who I am?”

“No,” Miss Billaba smiles, facing him fully, “you’re just a teenage boy.”

Luke’s never thought of it that way. He could disregard the mansion, the family obligations, the money, the fame, the extraordinary lifestyle. He could set aside all that he was given and switch it on only when needed rather than mope around. He could stop wondering about what others will think of him. 

He doesn’t have to hide. He’s Luke Fucking Skywalker.

“As a regular teenage boy,” Miss Billaba asks, “what do you want?”

Luke is emboldened to say his name, say Ezra Ezra Ezra like his life depends on it, but he nods once. A line has to be drawn somewhere.

“I’ll think about it,” Luke sighs, “thanks, I guess.”

Miss Billaba taps his shoulder before exiting the kitchen with the teachers. Luke is unsure how he should feel.

He’ll go with mortified.

/

As the mansion is cleared around midnight, Luke meanders to the garage. Bright white lights illuminate the line of fancy cars and motorcycles. His suit removed in favor of plaid pajamas, he sits on the rotating cushy stool beside his beloved Harley Davidson. The new paint job is so shiny that he could do his hair and makeup in front of it, all due to his meticulous dedication to its upkeep. 

Luke’s helmet dangles on the handlebars, and he can hear Ezra amusedly calling him a hypocrite for not wearing it when he harps on Ezra for not doing the same.

After expressing the old adage of ‘Merry Christmas’ this morning, Ezra had not texted until five minutes ago. A part of Luke is concerned why Ezra is up so late, but the content of the message intrigued him:

-Kenobi’s tomorrow? Noon?-

A flash of confidence followed by an imagined middle finger extended to familial obligations causes Luke to reply:

-I’ll be there.-

And nothing since, indicating Ezra was going to sleep. Luke couldn’t sleep, though. Of course not. It isn’t like Ezra to be so vague, and it would stay on Luke’s mind until he makes it to Kenobi’s.

Slippers scrape against the concrete. Luke blinks from his stupor.

Dad’s reflection in the motorcycle precedes his arrival. Dad finds another stool and wheels it over, plopping near Luke.

“Hey champ,” Dad says brightly, patting Luke’s shoulder, “I wanted to wait until after the party,” Dad has something crinkly in his grip, “but there’s another gift I have for you.”

A poorly-wrapped rectangular shape covered in glittery pink paper is shoved into Luke’s vision. He grasps it, placing the box on his lap with a little sigh; he received clothes and clothes and more clothes this morning in boxes just like this, and unlike Leia, he was not amused.

Luke wordlessly unwraps the sides, allowing the paper to unfold itself rather than tear it apart.

The paper gives halfway around the box. It curls outwards as he slides out an accordion folder. The transparent exterior reveals divider tabs in the color of a rainbow. Ruffling sounds when Luke moves the tabs around indicates there is paper inside.

Choosing a blue tab at random, he takes out a sheet of thick drawing paper. He flips over the blank side and gasps at the in-depth sketch of a new motorcycle.

“It’s something that I’ve been working on for a couple weeks,” Dad murmurs, glancing over Luke’s shoulder, “I want you to build it with me.”

Dad has never ever allowed Luke near his prototypes. The thought of building something with him is actually exciting.

Luke’s heart soars. His voice comes out soft and hopeful. “You mean it?”

Dad grins. “Yeah, of course I mean it.”

Luke does something he hasn’t done in years. He rises from his stool, folder and drawings in hands, and flops his arms around his father’s shoulders. 

As Luke buries his head into Dad’s messy hair, Dad chuckles and hugs back. They stay that way for a long while.

“Thank you,” Luke muffles.

“You’re welcome,” Dad rubs his back, “we’ll start tomorrow night. How about that?”

Luke hides his grimace upon remembering tomorrow. Nonetheless, he hums in affirmation.


	16. I heard that you said you’ve seen me in your dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How long has he been in the kitchen?”
> 
> “All day.”
> 
> “All day?” There is a frown in Ahsoka’s voice. “Really?”
> 
> “There’s a lot going on,” Barriss says quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard that you want to be closer to me.  
> I heard that you said you’ve seen me in your dreams.  
> He said she said you like the way I smile.  
> He said she said you like my confidence and style.  
> He said she said you want to hold my hand and more,  
> And more.
> 
> -Sabrina Claudio & Zayn, “Rumors”

Ezra spends the entirety of Christmas Day in the kitchen to avoid a laundry list of problems. If he remains in the bounds of the cooking space, nothing can touch him. Nothing can invade his thoughts. No offending parties can cut into his intense concentration. Kanan and Hera are right there, a roadblock to deter any members of his foster family from stepping over his good mood.

He didn’t expect them to all be waiting for him last night. Perching on the staircase like vultures. Ready to pounce and ask where he had been all night. Who was he with? Why didn’t they know? Where has he been going lately, anyhow? Why hadn’t they noticed he has been hanging out at the house less and less, disappearing and sneaking around so they wouldn’t realize he’d been gone the whole day?

It was devastating for various reasons. First, it worried Ezra that they were taking a special interest in him as of late. Ever since the paintball war, they wanted to know about Barriss and Ahsoka and Luke. He never said a word, naturally, but they were stifling, hard to ignore forever. 

Second, Ezra is immensely concerned for his new friends. Zare had been tame, as had Sabine and Kallus, but he isn’t used to seeing that side of them. It could spell disaster if Ezra is not careful. 

And third, no one in his foster family can, under any circumstances, know about his vested interest in Luke. An interest that cannot be denied as anything less than affection, the kind that stretches beyond friendship and into a realm that both scared and delighted him in its mysteries. 

It was Han and Chewie that showed Ezra what he felt for Luke could not be ignored, but he could damn well try to hide it. And he has so far. Or at least he thinks so.

Seeing a movie on Christmas Eve, alone with Luke for an entire three hours, tested Ezra’s every instinct to lean in a little closer and bridge the gap. He had passed, thankfully, with flying colors; it was a relief that Ezra had complete control over his urges. Besides, Luke didn’t make it difficult to be pleasant around, especially when he was absorbed in the movie and giddily explaining the significance of The Sound of Music. Luke made it easy for Ezra to forget his troubles and simply sit beside him, unresolved tension forgotten.

But when his foster siblings ganged up on him late last night, after Ezra had the best time in a very long time listening to Luke’s excited analyses, it was so jarring that he almost cracked right then and there. He wanted to scream into a pillow at the unfairness of not being able to have one day, one teeny tiny day, without something ruining it. He kept calm, though. He dismissed them with a curt “Merry Christmas” before stomping up the staircase, hammering in his cold demeanor. Ezra made it to his bedroom without any of them following him, so he considered it a win.

This morning, though, he could tell they still wanted to talk about last night. It wasn’t any of their business, in Ezra’s opinion. They rescinded the right to question him months ago, when they refused to tell him about their devious plans for the Halloween party. Ezra had to bide his time, especially after he showed up at the Christmas tree wearing the rainbow bracelets Luke picked out for him; the gift exchange was yet another reason why Ezra was struggling to hold in his feelings at the theater, but despite his inner conflicts, he would wear the cords proudly. He is no stranger to a shake-up, anyway, as he was the main cause of them around the house.

Once their designated gifts were opened, one for each of them, Hera and Kanan announced they had to complete a lot of tasks for dinner, since the Kenobi family were expected to arrive to support Barriss. They were given chores, but Ezra swept in and took most of them, standing curtly and getting started before Hera could even open her mouth to protest. 

Just because they were all courteous with their gifts doesn’t mean that warm fuzzy holiday feeling would last much longer with Ezra around to question. Ezra threw on his new sweater and immediately began rinsing the pots and dishes they would need for serving dinner. Whenever he caught sight of the rainbow corded bracelets on his wrists between washing and scrubbing, he would smile to himself.

He proceeded from taking care of dishes to cooking the meal alongside Hera. Kanan’s partial blindness could only take to organizing items and finding recipe ingredients.

Ezra loses himself in the tasks, because no matter what, the kitchen is a sacred space. He is safe there. They can’t ruin his mood here. He can daydream all he wants between stirring concoctions and monitoring the oven.

Halfway through the day, Han arrived to check on Chewie and humbly ask Hera for a portion of their feast.

“They’re getting worse,” Hera frowns, eyes glistening as she places a contemplative hand on her hip, “aren’t they?”

Han bobs his head and says nothing. A noticeable lump forms in his throat, but he coughs to disperse rising emotions.

“I’ll give you all I can spare, dear,” Hera promises, “but you’ll have to work for it.”

With Han helping out, albeit his obvious struggles completing even the simplest of tasks, Ezra felt more at ease. He didn’t think he would need it, but Han provides a safe barrier between him and the vultures outside the kitchen door.

When Hera leaves to check on Kanan’s table setting, Han nudges Ezra’s shoulder. As Ezra is in the midst of shaping cookie dough, he looks over slyly while Han smooths out the parchment paper.

“Have you heard from Luke today?” Han asks.

“Just this morning,” Ezra informs warily, “why?”

“Well,” Han glances over at the kitchen door, hesitant until he confirms no one is lurking in the area, “since Ahsoka and I know the deal with, uh, you being lovesick,” Ezra rolls his eyes, shaping cookie dough on autopilot, “we started a group chat and we’ve decided we’ll help you win over Luke.”

Ezra nearly drops half of the unshaped dough as he is carving out another piece. He settles for dropping the ice cream scoop, clenching his hands beneath latex gloves.

He sends Han a fiery look. “You have a group chat about my fucking love life?”

Han sheepishly holds up his hands. “You make it sound way worse than it is, man.”

“Really?” Ezra scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. He can’t catch a break.

“Look, the point of all this is,” Han waves his hands, “everyone wants you and Luke to be together. I was skeptical at first, but even I have to admit after knowing the guy for a while that it’s a good match!”

The prospect of making a move scares Ezra. Sure, he considers himself a fairly confident guy, but Luke is a different story. This is his friend. Ezra would even call Luke a best friend, the person who knows as much as Han does about the real unfiltered him. Ruining that would tear Ezra apart.

And it irks him that Han can read him well enough to meddle. Han knows it isn’t right, especially by the way Ezra shuts down, but he can’t help himself, he really can’t. Han’s impulse control was nonexistent.

Han rambles, “you both have so much in common! You both like those terrible movies that old people watch to feel alive again.”

Ezra shoots him a dirty look. Han just smiles at the reaction working as intended.

“You could both talk for hours without getting bored,” Han says, “I mean, I’ve seen the way you are with him. You aren’t like that with anybody else! You just light up when he’s in the room,” he points a finger as Ezra is about to protest, “don’t even lie to me. You know you can’t lie to me, Ezra Bridger. You both love motorcycles and math and libraries and all that,” he chuckles, “weird nerdy shit. You know you care about him. I know you care about him. Everyone who knows the two of you,” Han emphasizes, “knows how you care about him. Okay?”

Ezra sighs and places scoops of dough on the tray. He chooses not to say anything so that the observations would be over soon.

“And since we’re all rooting for you,” Han says, “we want to help.”

The offer dissuades Ezra entirely. “I don’t want your help.”

Han blinks. “Are you seriously planning to never say anything? That’ll kill you inside! Hell,” Ezra looks away from his best friend in favor of finishing the cookie shapes, “it probably is already!”

“I have impulse control,” Ezra mumbles, “more than you, anyway.”

“You should still do something,” Han implores, “come on, man. If nothing can stop you from pulling all those pranks with me at school, what’s stopping you from taking a risk right now?”

Ezra peels off his latex gloves, replacing them with mitts. “Because this wouldn’t result in detention or a slap on the wrist, Han.” He is surprised at how calm he sounds as he lifts up the tray of cookie dough. “There’s more at stake.”

Ezra balances the tray while opening the preheated oven. He sets the cookies on the top tier and closes it, setting the timer.

With that done, there is no ignoring Han’s gape. “You really really like him,” Han considers, “don’t you?”

“That’s why we’re talking about it, isn’t it?” Ezra deadpans, smoothing out his emotions so they are not written all over his face.

Han sighs deeply. “You should still listen to what Ahsoka has to say about him.”

Ezra pinches his brows together.

“I mean,” Han folds his arms, “don’t you want tips from your crush’s best friend?”

The idea was inviting. It really was, Ezra could admit it. But cheating is not the way.

“I can figure it out,” Ezra replies, “I appreciate it, but it’s fine, Han.”

Han frowns, his eyes expressing uneasiness. “Whatever.”

Hera enters the kitchen again. It is far too casual. And based on how she won’t meet their gaze, she’s been eavesdropping for quite a while.

At least it wasn’t-

Kanan trudges into the kitchen, failing to conceal a smirk as he opens the farthest cabinet.

Dammit.

/

“How long has he been in the kitchen?”

“All day.”

“All day?” There is a frown in Ahsoka’s voice. “Really?”

“There’s a lot going on,” Barriss says quietly.

Since Ezra has an ear trained to the mumbling crowd in the foyer, he sighs. Obi-Wan, Satine, and Ahsoka arrived as Han left with containers of food. He glances warily at the kitchen door, left open as the dinner table was deemed ready. 

“Does the drama never cease?” Ahsoka asks her girlfriend. Ezra thinks their perch nearest to the doorway was intentional to lure him out.

“To catch you up,” Barriss explains, “Ezra went to see a movie last night and he won’t tell them he was with Luke.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t tried to talk to him?”

“Han was here.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I’m going in th-”

Hera’s voice resounds in the foyer. “Dinner is on the table, everyone. Come on in.”

Ezra exhales in relief at the interruption. His foster siblings, who he has not seen since this morning, file towards the dining table. Sabine shoots him a look, Ketsu offers an apologetic expression, Zeb and Kallus are silent, Zare glares, Chewie smiles, and a worried Barriss ushers in a curious Ahsoka. Obi-Wan and Satine arrive alongside Hera and Kanan, finishing an amiable chat.

Hera and Kanan each take a head of the table. Kanan sits towards the foster siblings that always caused Ezra trouble, his strict demeanor quieting them instantly. The other half of the table has Hera inviting the Kenobis to sit near her. Barriss, Chewie, and Ezra take up the rest of the neutral space.

Small conversations occur on Kanan’s side of the table. It is painfully obvious to Ezra that they are putting on a show for the company. The meal is doled out by passing pots and serving spoons. 

It takes until Ezra’s plate is full to notice that their guests are staring at him.

“Ezra?” Obi-Wan’s surprise garners Ezra’s attention. “Oh. Hello.”

Satine chides Ahsoka, “you never told us Ezra was here, dear.”

Ezra can’t help but smile, which Ahsoka returns from across the table.

“Hello, Mister and Missus Kenobi,” Ezra chimes politely. “How are you today?”

“Good,” Obi-Wan says, still in shock that Ezra was here with them.

“We’re doing great, Ezra,” Satine amends, nudging her husband with her elbow to come back to himself.

“Ezra cooked most of this dinner himself,” Hera says proudly, “I hardly had to do anything, the sweet dear.”

Ahsoka brightens at the new information. “Luke loves to cook and bake too. It’s killing him that there are hired chefs all over the house and he can’t make anything himself.”

Ezra bats his lashes. Ahsoka said it in a nonchalant and breezy way, but the implication brings an old question up to the surface, something he has meant to ask ever since he talked to Luke on a whim at Kenobi’s months ago.

There is a beat of silence at the table before silverware fills the space. Ahsoka catches why rather quickly, so she wears a contemplative frown directed towards Ezra.

But Ezra doesn’t give a fuck about the discomfort. He wants his foster siblings to feel pressure, hear something that can’t be ignored. It is what he craved ever since Barriss’s outburst at Thanksgiving: to get them to talk and acknowledge Luke’s presence doesn’t damn their carefully-constructed paradise to the depths of hell.

So Ezra smoothly moves the conversation along between bites with an “oh, I know. He helped with the sugar cookies at Han’s place. Even I was completely useless,” he emphasizes the motion of his fork, “but Luke swept right in and cleaned up our mess.”

Ahsoka laughed lightly. “That’s exactly what Luke does. One time,” she leans forward as if they are whispering between the meal, continuing to detail instances of Luke being a good friend.

The more Ezra heard, the more he wondered the purpose of Ahsoka’s sudden openness in regards to storytelling. His mind tells him that it is so his foster siblings could listen, but his rapid heartbeat believes the information was given for the sole purpose of making him fall even more in love with Luke.

Ezra was too enamored to realize how far he had fallen in the course of an hour until he was laying on the ocean floor.

/

The hand clutched on his forearm is what does it. Ezra was in the clear. Their guests were gathered in the foyer, adjusting their coats and preparing to leave for the night. The door was open and flecks of snow coat the outdoor mat. Ezra was about to retreat into his bedroom and breathe to calm his heartbeat, which had been irregular ever since their story sharing about Luke.

But then that palm clutches his forearm. That squeeze gets his attention. He stiffens in anticipation.

Ahsoka just had to whisper in his ear. Words that ring and devastate Ezra’s soul in the best and worst ways. 

She had to whisper:

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

Her shadow is gone from his peripherals, and she sends her girlfriend a smile. She kisses Barriss’s cheek on the way out the door, Obi-Wan and Satine guiding her to the car.

The door is shut by Kanan. The slam resounds as an alarm in Ezra’s head.

To prevent a spiral, Ezra strides into the kitchen with Hera. The jarring movements of his own legs forces his mind to focus on the now.

As the swinging door closes behind the pair, he clears his throat and asks, “may I help you wash?”

Hera frowns over her shoulder at him as the sink turns on. “You can go to bed, darling. It’s late.”

Ezra restates, “I want to help you wash.”

Hera narrows her eyes, but does not inquire. As the dirty dishes are put in the sink, clattering on the old copper, she says, “gloves, please.”

Ezra obliges by finding the latex gloves and snapping them on.

/

It is almost midnight when Ezra goes to his bedroom. His foster siblings had already given up and gone to sleep, so Ezra considers his avoidance techniques a resounding success. He quietly tiptoes and shuts the door, sighing in relief as he drops onto the unmade bed. 

He rolls over and snatches his smartphone from the nightstand. No texts from Luke.

Ezra opens the messaging app. He gathers his courage, as well as lucidity, and types out an invitation:

-Kenobi’s tomorrow? Noon?-

While he waits, he changes into a thick shirt and long pajama pants. By the time he is curled back up in bed, an answer awaits:

-I’ll be there.-

There is no backing out now. Ezra clicks out of the messenger app and shuts off his smartphone. He plugs it into the charger on the nightstand and rolls against the wall. He hides under the covers and curses himself for what he planned to do.

But he never knew. He could always back out from the purpose and just sit with Luke at the convenience store.

He’ll let tomorrow’s Ezra decide.


	17. It’s time the kid got free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke awakens in a state of trepidation. All morning, he watches the minutes tick by in an agonizing waiting game. 
> 
> Noon. Ezra said to meet at Kenobi’s at noon. He has to remember not to rush in, to take a breath and think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in but I want out,  
> My mother’s love is choking me.  
> I’m sick of words that hang above my head.  
> What about the kid? It’s time the kid got free.
> 
> -Lorde, “The Love Club”

Luke awakens in a state of trepidation. All morning, he watches the minutes tick by in an agonizing waiting game. 

Noon. Ezra said to meet at Kenobi’s at noon. He has to remember not to rush in, to take a breath and think.

Or at least that’s what he told himself. It’s what he should be doing, but he paces between the bathroom and the walk-in closet. He clenches his fists so he doesn’t ruin his freshly washed and blow dried hair. He pads barefoot wearing a pair of briefs. 

He rips open the closet and looks in the mirror and regards the clock. Rips open the closet and looks in the mirror. He is not satisfied in the slightest; a boy shouldn’t have him questioning his every move. He could curse himself out in frustration.

Luke huffs at the contents of his closet. Nothing looked like the right thing to wear. What does one wear to a meeting at Kenobi’s? Ezra’s vagueness in the text meant something was wrong, and Luke is too convinced to turn back and admit that Ezra could have been too tired last night to add his usual Ezra-like nuances. 

Something is wrong, and it’s driving Luke mad. He clutches at jacket sleeves and stretches yarn sweater fabric in vain; which colors made him look good, again? But not good enough to make it seem like he’s trying to look good for Ezra? 

He doesn’t even know if Ezra likes him back! Ugh, what the fuck is he doing?!

Luke storms away from the walk-in closet and bounds into the bathroom. He quakes to a stop in front of the mirror. His hair was losing its volume as more air particles layered between his strands. He shakes out his bangs, allowing strands to curl around his ears and enhance his jawline. His skin is flushed from the constant movement, and he decides it is not an unattractive experimental look. In fact, he would not need makeup if he kept up the exercise.

Well, there. That’s something. That’s a decision he could make: no concealer or blush today. 

What else can he decide on? Luke leans forward, over the sink, the reflective surface filling his vision. Critical eyes examine his own face minute detail by minute detail. He focuses on the flaws rather than his freckles, which he considers his pride and joy.

He fixates for a long moment on the mole below his lip and above his chin. He usually covered it up along with the beauty marks dotted across his cheeks, but what if he didn’t? What if he showed them off?

What if he showed himself off on purpose?

Luke inhales sharply and straightens his posture. Wide eyes stare back at him. The thought process is dangerous. Very dangerous. It would mean he has to flirt. Actively flirt. He’s never actively flirted with someone before. He’s the one batting away boys at school, interested in his education over finding love.

But wait...who is telling him to flirt? Why is that the first conclusion his mind travelled to? He could show off. He could if he really wanted to show off.

So what’s stopping him? 

Luke squints at himself in the mirror. Why did he do this to himself? Why did he hide his blemishes when he should celebrate them? He promised himself he was going to be more confident, and that started right here, right now.

He places a hand on his hip. He regards himself, and he says:

“I’m Luke Fucking Skywalker.”

Determined, Luke strides towards the walk-in closet. He chooses the colors that pop: a white jumper adorned with lemons, shrieking blue trousers, and squeaky clean white rain boots. He peruses jewelry options and retrieves a sunflower hair clip. Luke smiles to himself as his finger pads trail across the old keepsake.

He felt more confident already.

Clasping the plastic sunflower in one hand, he gathered up his clothing choices and laid them on the bedspread. Yellow and blue, he was told, were the colors that best highlighted his features. He wants to put them to the test, not for anyone else, but for himself. 

If he weren’t monitored so often for what he chose, this is what he would desire to wear. And since his family was sleeping in, they wouldn’t weigh in on Luke’s choices.

Luke drags his thumb across the sunflower clip still in his hand. The petal material, while scratchy, meant freedom. It meant independence.

It meant he was Luke Fucking Skywalker, and he was going to keep the vow he made to himself.

He sucks in a breath, exhaling deeply at the clothes. He raises the clip to his hair.

Once it rests above his ear, Luke begins to dress.

/

Luke pushes open the glass door to Kenobi’s. The doors chime their usual welcome, cold air blasting despite the chilly weather outside. His eyes scan the area, brows furrowing as no figures come into view.

That was Ezra’s motorcycle outside, right? Of course. Yes. It was difficult to mistake the Jackson Pollock-esque design as anyone else but Ezra’s motorcycle.

Luke advances, boots squeaking on the tile. It smelled of lemon, which meant it was mopped this morning. 

His head rounds the shelves. No one at the counter.

A muffled sound from the back filters into Luke’s ear. Pursing his lips into a frown, he walks closer.

The door to the back room is partially ajar. Two voices hiss at each other. One female. One male.

Luke’s heart stops. He crosses the store briskly, arms smacking against the heavy door. His palms press on the weight and reveal the contents of the room.

Ahsoka and Ezra stand close together, their heads snapped in his direction. Their mouths are frozen open, eyes electrified with shock.

Acid pours into Luke’s stomach, heart roiling in a backflip. His voice jumps out as an afterthought with a “what’s going on?”

Ezra is nervous as he replies with a jittery blurted “nothing.”

Ahsoka’s shoulder sag with a wary look directed towards Luke. “He means nothing important.”

Ezra closes his mouth and swallows so loud that Luke can hear the gulp across the room. His vibrant gaze does not leave Luke, as if a remote presses pause on his reaction.

“Uh,” Ahsoka blinks between Ezra and a confused Luke, “okay,” she walks across the room towards Luke in the doorway, “come in here.”

Ahsoka grasps Luke’s hands and guides him inside. The back room door shuts loudly. Luke frowns at Ezra but fixates on Ahsoka as she holds his hands between them. He looks over at her face.

“Ezra has something to say,” Ahsoka smiles, then glances behind her to glare, “right, Ezra?”

Luke observes Ezra warily from the side of his vision. He clears his throat and blinks for the first time in what must be a full minute. It takes considerable effort for Ezra to slide his eyes away from Luke’s sweater and sunflower clip.

Luke stamps down the urge to smirk. Inwardly smirking was far better than the alternative, which would be to curl up in a corner and analyze every iota of Ezra’s face, slowly crumbling apart as Luke’s worst fear and best dream came true.

“Um,” Ezra forces a smile, Luke slipping his hands away from Ahsoka’s, “we were just talking about last night. How, um,” Luke sidesteps his best friend so he can face Ezra fully, “how we, uh, talked about you at dinner.”

“Okayyy,” Luke pinches his brows together, “what exactly is the problem with that?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen in his peripherals. She senses the change in him but says nothing.

“Um,” Ezra shrugs, then breaks out into a low chuckle, “I guess nothing?” His body lightens its load, his posture relaxing. “I guess it’s just a sign that...they’re paying attention to you?”

Luke squints; he doesn’t quite understand how he knows this so well, knows the tells in Ezra’s expression after only becoming friends a couple months ago, but he calls Ezra out:

“That’s not what’s bothering you. For once,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “your family isn’t what’s bothering you.” Luke strides until he toes the line between Ezra’s personal space and popping the bubble. “So, what is it?”

Ezra is positively comical as he studies Luke with wide eyes. Ezra’s eyes are mesmerizing when they glitter in appreciation, but Luke made sure not to dive deep into the ocean; he had to keep a clear head.

Ezra’s mouth opens and closes, teeth hitting each other as he clears his throat again. An arm casts across his waist to fix one of his leather jacket sleeves, fingers tracing the hemline. He glances down at his shoes and then back up at Luke.

Ahsoka turns on her heel curtly. She rips on the handle of the back room door. Obi-Wan’s voice filters through the space as Ahsoka leaves. The door slams shut behind her.

“I, um,” Ezra’s tone is shaky as Luke turns back to him, “I was wondering something, but Ahsoka said not to ask you.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “‘Soka is protective, that’s all. And she’s not here, is she?”

Ezra swallows thickly again. “Right.” He chuckles nervously. “I guess...well...I’ve been thinking a lot about how we met lately. No reason,” he blurts, “just, um,” he blushes, “why were you so upset that day?”

Luke already feels stupid thinking about how he stormed out of the mansion after Mom threatened to take away his Harley Davidson. He knew it was an empty threat but it didn’t stop him from driving to Kenobi’s and running into Ezra, Sabine, and Zeb. In the past, he avoided run-ins with any of them since their visits to the off-road convenience store were infrequent, so it was the first time they had truly exchanged in conversation.

The topic of Luke’s family hadn’t been brought up unless he was making empty complaints about not being able to wear flamboyant outfits to parties. It was why Luke adored Ezra’s friendship and valued him as much as Ahsoka and Barriss.

But Ezra’s natural curiosity for what lies behind the scenes couldn’t be ignored forever. It was foolish to think that.

Ezra rambles, “I-I just remember you being upset and we sure didn’t help matters and I remember feeling concerned because, w-well, I don’t know exactly, but that’s not the point. The point is that you were there for a reason, and I would appreciate knowing why, because sometimes, I look at you, a-at your makeup, and I think, well, something’s wrong, he’s hiding something, and I want to know what to make sure you’re doing okay, because I don’t even know if you’re doing okay half the time and I’m too afraid to ask because I would be prying and I know you don’t like that, b-but I can’t leave it alone anymore. I really care about you and I need to know when you’re okay and when you’re not okay so that I can help you like you’ve helped me, a-and I just-”

Luke holds up a hand. Ezra falls silent, blinking down at his shoes and blushing deeply. He catches his breath and swallows a lump forming in his throat.

“Okay,” Luke decides, his voice soft but clear, “I’ll tell you, but you’ll be disappointed.”

Ezra cannot meet his gaze due to his lingering embarrassment, but it is obvious that he is listening, that Luke has his full attention. Ezra’s following words are powerful, but they come out breezy:

“You haven’t disappointed me yet, and I don’t think you will.”

Luke’s heart thuds in answer. Now he’s the one looking away from Ezra. “I know I’ve jokingly complained about it,” he says slowly, “but it’s hard being the son to an heiress.”

Ezra tilts his head to the side, inquisitive yet considerate. 

“It gets to me,” Luke sighs, realizing how ridiculous he sounds, “I complain because it gets to me. It really does.”

Ezra seems to fill in the blanks himself. “You can’t do what you want.”

Luke observes him warily.

“Can’t be who you want.”

Luke bites his lip.

“Can’t choose how you want to live.”

Luke nods in affirmation. He grits his teeth so water doesn’t rise in his eyelids; he’s being so idiotic. Why does he want to cry? He already knows life isn’t fair. Not for him, and certainly not for Ezra.

“If that’s true,” Ezra furrows his brows, “how have you been hanging out with me all this time?”

That was an easy question to answer. Luke brightens at how simple it is to reply, “my Dad used to be best friends with Obi. If they think I’m with Ahsoka, they don’t ask about anything else.”

The darker implications of what he said hit him. He purses his lips, watching Ezra absorb the information. Rather than walk away in offense, Ezra simply considers it and bobs his head. When he does not speak, it is clear he is waiting for more.

So Luke murmurs, “I’d tell them about you, but then my sister would say you’re the school’s bad boy and they would bolt my windows shut so I couldn’t visit you anymore.”

Ezra blinks. “Wait, seriously?” His eyes widen. “Are you literally Rapunzel?”

Luke can’t help the smile that tinges the corner of his mouth. Amusement bubbles in his stomach and heats up his chest. “I’m grateful that I’m allowed as much freedom as I have been lately. All the stipulations,” Ezra recalls the word as Luke pays special attention to the enunciation, “aren’t as tiresome with you around.”

Again, Luke worries about what he just said. He admitted something huge. Or almost admitted something he couldn’t take back.

He’s not sure if he would want to take it back, now that he wonders about it, but he should be cautious. While Ezra looking at him with appreciation was interesting, Luke couldn’t assume anything.

Ezra makes all of Luke’s worries disappear with a toothy smile. It lights up his entire face, his copper skin glowing at the childlike action.

As Luke falls apart, Ezra’s whimsical tone warms him:

“Well, if that’s the case, let’s make the most of every day, right?”

/

Luke studies the blueprints at the work bench. Dad waits with bated breath at Luke’s critical eye for detail. 

Though Luke is having difficulty focusing, because apparently all he can think about is him. It didn’t help that he was so kind, so sweet and forgiving and endearing. None of that helped Luke’s case at all.

Luke observes the design lines by squinting, forcing himself to concentrate, dammit. Concentrate!

He must take too long, because Dad folds his arms on the work bench and leans down. His curly hair spills from a bun and tickles the surface of the bench. His concerned face fills the bottom of Luke’s vision. 

Dad’s chin rests on his lower arms. “You okay, buddy? What’s on your mind?”

Luke wishes he wasn’t so transparent sometimes.

“I’m fine,” Luke lies.

Dad narrows his eyes. “Kiddo, you may have your mother’s looks, but you have my nonexistent poker face.”

Luke blows air out of his mouth. Dad snorts as the breath tickles his stray hairs. Luke makes a snap decision and asks, “what was high school like for you?”

Dad is torn between a grimace and a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just asking,” Luke says neutrally, eyes cast down to Dad’s worried expression.

“Well,” Dad sighs, “I would mostly hang out with Obi-Wan and we would keep to ourselves. Get in trouble, sure, but we didn’t make a lot of waves.”

This intrigues Luke. “How did you get Mom to go out with you, then?”

Dad exhales through his nose, holding back an amused chuckle. “I walked up to her one day and asked her to go see a movie with me. Obi-Wan didn’t think I’d do it, since I’d had a crush on her for so long, but I seized the moment. And your Mom liked my confidence, how I didn’t care about her money and treated her like a regular person. That’s why she stuck with me, and that’s why I’m the luckiest guy,” Dad sits up and ruffles Luke’s hair, “and it’s why I have the best kids.”

Luke cannot bring himself to smile. Dad left him with a lot to consider. He couldn’t linger on it too long right now, though. He didn’t want to worry Dad.

Luke casts his gaze down to the blueprints. He clears his throats and says, “you forgot about the air filtration system.”

“Oh!” Dad looks down and gapes at the designs. “How in the goddamn freaking hell did I completely forget the mother-”

Luke laughs brightly as Dad curses himself out, pushing Dad’s words to the wayside.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments help me write!


End file.
